Children of the WWE
by Undertaker of the Sith
Summary: Vince wakes up to find his wrestlers have all been turned into children, leaving only him, Shane, and Coach to take care of them. Naturally, insanity ensues.
1. Rude Awakening

**I know this as been done before, but I had to try my hand at it. All my favorite and most hated wrestlers are featured in this fic, and have been turned into little children. And the McMahon's are forced to deal with them. What more can I say? **

**I don't know how funny this is going to be…it's mostly just completely insane never-gonna-happen-in-a-bazillion-years antics. You'll see what I mean when you read this chapter. **

Vince McMahon was peacefully asleep in his office, stretched out on the couch, in the midst of a happy dream. This dream was one typical of the Chairman of the WWE, involving world domination, wrestlers who did his bidding without complaint, riches beyond imagination that belonged solely to _him_—and perhaps best of all, absolutely _no _DX. He was just about to commence with his evil laugh after completing his conquering of the world, when he was awakened by something hard digging into his side.

He jolted awake, fully intent on kicking the ass of whoever had dared disturb him, before he fired them with all the fury of a raging tornado. "What the _hell_—" he shouted, but stopped when he saw who had awakened him.

Two small boys stood beside the couch, staring at him with wide and sparkling eyes. One had thick, shoulder-length blond hair, and the other was a trifle smaller than the first boy, with slightly darker hair tied back in a ponytail. Both were giggling excitedly.

"Good one, Hunt!" the smaller boy said, and they both slapped high-fives.

Vince stared, for a moment completely dumfounded. _Children_…in _his _office? There weren't supposed to be any _anywhere_ in the building, but here they were, in _his _office. He supposed they must be children of the wrestlers, and when he found out who…well, _someone _was going to get a foot up his ass. "Names," he said sharply. "Now."

The two boys stared back at him, looking mildly surprised, but not at all deterred by his hard tone. This only served to anger him further.

"Don't you _know _us, old man?" the boy with the ponytail asked. "We're _Deseneration-X_."

The other shook his head and released an exasperated sigh. "_No_, Shawn. It's _Degeneration_-X."

"That's what I said," the smaller boy recounted, looking mildly perplexed. "Desleperation-X."

The other slapped his forehead with his palm.

Meanwhile, Vince's mouth had dropped open, and he was staring at the two boys as though they had suddenly sprouted three heads. "_Michaels_?" he managed, his shock evident in his voice. "_Triple H_?"

The smaller boy squealed in delight and began jumping up and down, clapping his hands. "Yay!" he cried. "He knows us! He knows us! He—"

The other pounded him once on the head, and the boy with the ponytail immediately fell to the floor, where he lay, motionless.

Yes. Definitely Triple H and Shawn Michaels.

Suddenly, the door opened, and another boy stepped in. This one was wearing a hat backwards, a smirk plastered over his face.

Shawn immediately leapt to his feet, as though on a string pulled by the opening door. He released another cheerful cry and ran to the new boy, briefly locking his arms around the boy's neck. "Hey, John!"

The boy grinned at him. "Yo, Shawn, buddy."

Meanwhile, Triple H was glaring at this new boy, scowling, his arms crossed over his chest. "Cena," he said shortly.

The boy returned the gaze. "Triple H," he replied in the same tone.

The two continued to glare at each other like a pair of rival lions, their eyes burning with impenetrable hatred. Shawn looked from one to the other and frowned. "C'mon, guys, can't you at least _try _to get along?"

Neither replied, but kept their eyes locked on each other. Shawn looked down sadly.

Meanwhile, on the sofa, Vince stared at the three, his mouth wide open, bewildered and not fully comprehending what he was seeing. "_Cena_?"

Cena turned to him, looking mildly surprised. After studying him for a few moments, he turned back to Shawn. "Who's this old geezer?" he inquired, jerking his thumb in Vince's direction.

Shawn shrugged. "Dunno, but the door says he's the…" He looked at the door, studying the sign upon it carefully. "See…hair…man. Seehairman."

John sniggered. "See_hair_man? What's _that_?"

Shawn thought for a moment. "I think it's a man with lots of hair that we can see."

John laughed out loud at this. "Well, I don't see much hair right now, but I bet he's got _lots _of it he's hiding."

Shawn nodded in agreement. "Yeah."

Triple H walked up to them, and, giving John one final heated glance, put an arm around Shawn's shoulders. He looked at the sign on the door. "No," H said, "it doesn't say Seehairman, Shawn. It says _Chair_man."

"Chairman? What's that?" Shawn enquired, looking puzzled.

"A man who's really a chair," Triple H said matter-of-factly.

Shawn looked over at Vince. "He doesn't look like a chair," he said doubtfully.

"That's because he's in disguise."

"Oh." Shawn nodded. "I see."

_Well, they aren't all _that _different, _Vince thought wildly, and suddenly burst into hysterical laughter. The three boys looked at him with raised eyebrows.

"Uh…is it just me, or is this guy nuts?" John remarked.

Shawn looked at him thoughtfully. "I like nuts," he said.

Vince laughed harder, and fell backwards, consequently tumbling off the sofa. He rolled on the floor, laughing crazily.

Shawn, being the curious little boy he was, walked up to the laughing Chairman, and studied him thoughtfully. Cautiously, he put his foot next to Vince's side, and gave him a light nudge. He jumped back immediately, guard up, ready to defend himself should the need arise.

Finally, Vince got a hold of himself, and stood, glaring at the three boys. Shawn immediately retreated to Triple H's side, and the children stared back at the Chairman of the WWE with their own unflinching, distrustful gaze.

"How _old _are all of you?" Vince questioned finally.

Shawn immediately stepped forward, throwing out his chest. "_Five_, Chairman person!" he announced proudly.

Vince felt weak again. _Five years old? _There were three _five year olds _in his office? And as if that wasn't bad enough, two of them were _Degeneration-X_. God knew what _they _were like when they were children. Not to mention John Cena.

And Vince had a sinking feeling he would soon find out.

…

Elsewhere in the building, in the arena, the product of Vincent Kennedy McMahon's semen, the one and only Shane McMahon, was amusing himself by practicing wrestling moves in the ring. At the moment he would get the same shock as his father, he was running back and forth across the ring, bouncing off the ropes on each side.

He was about to deliver a potentially devastating Clothesline to an imaginary opponent (Shawn Michaels, to be specific), when he heard sobbing and small footsteps. He looked around, and started when he saw two boys running towards the ring.

The one in the lead was sobbing, but Shane thought he looked more angry than sad. The other was following him, also appearing furious. This one was dressed all in black, wearing a hat with a round brim, and what appeared to be a miniature trench coat.

The crying boy jumped into the ring, followed closely by the boy in black, and ran to Shane. He tugged on Shane's pant leg, and sobbed, "Edge won't leave us alone!"

Shane blinked. Edge messing around with children? Edge was an asshole, Shane knew that, but he never imagined the 'Rated-R-Superstar' would stoop so low as to bother children. "What's he doing to you?" he asked, kneeling so he was eye-level with the boy. Shane thought he looked familiar, and so did the other one, but he couldn't figure out _why _yet.

The boy crossed his arms, his eyes flashing. "That creep keeps calling us names. Like, he keeps calling 'Taker 'Undietakie-poo'." He gestured to the boy behind him.

Shane's jaw fell open. Now he knew why the boy in the hat seemed so familiar. "_Undertaker_?" he managed weakly, staring at the boy.

The two boys seemed surprised. The one who had been crying stopped abruptly, and backed away from Shane, and stood next to the other. "You know 'Taker?" he asked.

Shane, feeling weak, studied this boy more closely. Then realized who _he _was, too. "_Randy Orton_?"

The boy in the hat—Undertaker—put an arm around the other's shoulders. "How do you know us?" he demanded.

"Randy! 'Taker!"

Shane, Orton, and Undertaker looked around, to see three other boys and—to Shane's great relief—Vince McMahon walking toward them.

Vince looked as bewildered as Shane felt, and he trailed slowly behind the three boys. Two of them, one with blonde hair down to his shoulders, the other wearing a hat backwards, glared at each other as they walked. The third boy was in the lead, waving cheerfully.

Randy's face cleared, and he waved back, though not as enthusiastically. "Hey, Shawn," he said. Undertaker only stared, saying nothing, keeping close to Orton.

The boy took the bottom rope, and pulled himself up. He flipped over it, and landed in a sitting position on the top rope. He grinned at them. "Yo, guys. What's up?"

Randy crossed his arms and scowled. "Edge is being an asshole again," he said with obvious distaste.

The boy's smile vanished, and he gasped. "_Randy_!" he cried, looking shocked.

Randy rolled his eyes. "Oh, grow up."

The boy looked hurt, and he jumped off the ropes, turning back to the other boy's he had come in with, his bottom lip trembling. Upon seeing this, the two others practically tripped over each other running to him, and both began attempting to console him at once.

Vince, meanwhile, joined his son in the ring. Shane turned to him, closing his mouth abruptly. "Dad…what is going _on _here?"

Vince shook his head. "I have no idea."

So Shane and Vince McMahon, the Chairman of the WWE and the Chairman's son, two assholes, stood watching as five-year-old Shawn Michaels cried and five-year-old Triple H and John Cena both attempted to console him at the same time, glaring at each other as they did so. Meanwhile, five-year-old Randy Orton and Undertaker talked in low voices, possibly plotting revenge against Edge, who both McMahon's could only assume was _also _five-years-old.

It was official. This was the worst and most screwed up day EVER for the McMahon's.

Little did they know, this was only the beginning.

**Yeah, OK, so the only the beginning was remotely funny, but this is only chapter one. Just wait 'till the NEXT chapter comes along…**

**But, of course, you'll only get to read it if you leave a review. ;) **


	2. Coach's Visitors

**O.O Whoa. Damn. Wow. 15 reviews for one chapter? And **_**five **_**favorites? **_**Ten **_**alerts? Da-AMN. That's more than I expected. I hope all you wonderful people like this chapter as much as the last, and I hope you'll continue to grace me with your comments. :D **

**OK, I hope this chapter is funny. My brothers thought Rey in this story was positively hilarious. I thought, at the very least, he's so cute it hurts. Enjoy and please review!**

General Manager of Smackdown, Theodore Long, had decided—at the last minute, of course—that he needed a vacation. If he didn't get away soon, all these obnoxious wrestlers would drive him insane. He was sure of that. Thus, he had gone to Mr. McMahon—rather nervous, naturally—and asked for some time off. Say, a week. Maybe a month. Or possibly forever. Personally, Long liked the sound of the latter.

Shocking everyone in the WWE who knew Vincent Kennedy McMahon, the Chairman had—albeit begrudgingly—allowed Long a week off. Teddy Long had been gone before you could say "lucky bastard".

And in his place, Vince had appointed General Manager of Raw and his Executive Assistant, Jonathan Coachman. Personally. Meaning there was no escape for Coach.

And so, Jonathan Coachman sat in Teddy Long's office, typing randomly on his laptop, bored. It had turned out to be a rather uneventful day for Smackdown, and there had been no part for him to play in the day's script.

Thus, he was dying of boredom.

But that wouldn't last long.

Very suddenly, startling Coach, the door to the office opened. Coach jumped a little, almost causing his brand-new laptop to take a potentially devastating tumble to the ground. He managed to catch it just in time, and absently put it aside, his eyes on the door.

He nearly fainted when he saw who it was.

A small boy walked in, his large eyes sparkling under a mask which looked curiously like Rey Mysterio's. He was tiny—barely half the size of Coach's leg, and Coach's bewildered mind guessed he couldn't be much older than three. The boy smiled broadly when he saw the GM of Raw, and hobbled quickly over to the sofa. Then, much to Coach's bewilderment, locked his arms around the much bigger man's leg.

"Helwo, fwend!" he greeted cheerfully, and clutched Coach's leg.

Jonathan Coachman's jaw had by now dropped open. What was a child—especially one so young—doing in here? He guessed the boy must belong to one of the superstars—how else could he have gotten in here?—maybe even Mysterio, judging by the mask. He briefly contemplated what Mr. McMahon would do if he discovered there was a child—or possibly children—wandering around, and abruptly stood, forcing his mouth shut.

He carefully pried the boy off him—his own hands seemed very big compared to the child's tiny arms, and it seemed if he held those arms to tightly he'd crush them—and kneeled. Even on his knees he had to bend a little to be eyelevel with the boy. "What's your name?" he asked, hoping if he had a name he'd be able to bring the child back to his parents.

The boy giggled. "_Siwy_," he said, and Coach guessed 'siwy' meant 'silly', "I _Wey Mystewio!_"

It took Coach a moment to translate this, but when he did his jaw dropped once more. "_Mysterio_?"

The boy who claimed to be Rey Mysterio nodded enthusiastically, and wrapped his minute arms around Coach's neck. "You my new fwend!" he chimed, his smile never faltering in the slightest.

"_Rey_?"

Coach and the child Rey Mysterio looked around, and saw another boy, this one much larger than Mysterio, standing in the doorway. He looked frantic, scanning the room. When he saw Rey, his frightened expression turned relieved. "Rey…" he said, and smiled.

Mysterio immediately released Coach, and went to the new boy. He locked his arms around the new boy, and chimed his greetings in his high-pitched, child's voice, "Helwo, fwend Batistwa!"

The other boy held Rey briefly. "What did I tell you about wandering?" he said in a would-be scolding voice, looking like he was trying to be stern.

Mysterio's smile never faltered. He turned, and pointed at Coach, who was still on his knees, mouth agape, staring at the two boys. "He my new fwend!" he said, his large eyes alight.

The other boy nodded, and said, "That's very nice, Rey, now come on—"

He was cut off by a loud wail that suddenly broke out, slightly muffled, coming from down the hall. Minutes later, yet another boy, this one with long black hair pulled behind him in a ponytail, came in the doorway. This one seemed exasperated and annoyed. "Batista, JBL pooped again," he recounted rather indifferently, and stuffed his hands into his pockets.

The boy who had come in looking for Rey turned to this new boy, his back to Coach now. Coach could see a large tattoo on his back, of what looked like a dragon.

_Batista, _he thought, bewildered. _Batista is a child, too, and probably JBL. What is going _on_ here?_

The boy with the tattoo—Batista—slapped his forehead with his palm and sighed. "_Again_? Oh well. Watch Rey, will you?"

The boy with the ponytail nodded, and Batista hurried off, presumably to whomever was wailing—JBL, Coach assumed.

Rey, still smiling, now hugged this new boy. "Helwo, fwend Mwatt!"

The boy only glanced indifferently down at him, and looked around at Coach. "Who are you?" he asked, not sounding particularly interested.

Coach opened his mouth to say something, but at first nothing came out. Then, finally, he heard his own voice recount his name.

"_Woach_!" Rey cried at once, "Fwend Woach!" He grinned and gestured behind him at the boy with the ponytail with one tiny hand. "Fwend Woach, dis fwend Mwatt Hawdy!"

Coach was not terribly surprised to hear this, but he still felt weak. "Matt Hardy?" he said in a small and shaking voice. Hardy only nodded apathetically, and glanced around at the hall. The wailing had stopped, and now Coach thought he heard muffled scolding and sniffling.

Hardy snickered. "Sounds like JBL's getting his daily lecture, eh, Rey?"

Rey looked up at him, that sparkle in his large eyes never dimming. He nodded cheerfully. "Wotally!" he agreed.

There was a few moments of silence, and Rey seemed to be getting restless. He looked around the room, smiling still, and his eyes settled on the sofa where Coach sat. Only he wasn't looking atCoach, but _past _Coach, at the laptop. Mere seconds after he saw it, he began hobbling toward it, without so much as a glance at Coach as he passed the bewildered GM of Raw.

He jumped onto the couch in a fashion Coach recognized as the same way he jumped onto the top rope in his wrestling matches. He sat in front of the laptop, which was on—Coach had forgotten to turn it off when he set it aside after the door opened and this very boy had walked in.

He studied the screen for a moment, his expression that an archeologist might wear after he has made what had the potential to be another important discovery. Then he began randomly pressing buttons, taking a second to giggle joyfully after the experimental pressing of each.

Coach only stared for a moment, blinking, then realized what the child was doing. "Hey!" he shouted, and lifted the small boy away from the computer. It took only one arm, and wasn't very hard—Rey was as light as he was small.

Matt looked around from his spot in the doorway, and started when he saw Rey in Coach's lap. He immediately ran to them, sparing one glance to the hall to make sure Batista hadn't come out yet.

Coach hastily shut off the laptop while Mysterio giggled in his lap. "_Siwy_," he said, and burst into another fit of giggles.

Matt hastily took Rey from Coach, lifting the smaller boy with only a trifle more difficulty than Coach had. "Rey!" he said, "Don't _do _that!"

Rey only smiled up at him. "_Siwy_," he repeated. The tiny boy turned and hobbled to the doorway, saying over and over, "Siwy, siwy, _siwy_…"

"Sorry," Matt mumbled his apology to Coach, but he kept his eyes on Rey. "He's like that. Batista usually watches him."

Coach nodded, not sure how else to respond. He hesitated, then asked slowly, "How old are all of you?" But he wasn't sure he wanted to know.

"Five."

"_All _of you?" Jonathan Coachman was beginning to wonder if he would faint after all.

"Yes." Hardy stuffed his hands in his pockets again, his eyes never leaving Rey.

Coach was about to say something else, but he was interrupted by Rey. "Fwend Batistwa, fwend Waybeewell!"

Matt quickly went to Rey's side, and Coach followed.

Batista, looking annoyed, was walking down the hall. Now he was accompanied by a rather stout boy, this one wearing only a diaper and a shirt that was a trifle too small. Coach was reminded absurdly of the baby in that cartoon "Rugrats".

Rey, as Coach had expected, ran to this new boy immediately to hug him. "Fwend Waybeewell!"

The boy's face twisted in disgust and he pushed the tiny boy off. "It's _JBL_, you freak."

Rey looked mildly confused for a moment, and then giggled. "_Siwy_," he said yet again, "dat's what I said! Waybeewell!"

Coach blinked. JBL in a diaper? At five years old? He covered his mouth with his hand to suppress a snort. This was getting to be rather amusing, albeit shocking. Not to mention _impossible_.

It was then Coach came to a decision: this had to be a dream. There was no way this could actually be _happening for real_. There was just _no way_.

Meanwhile, Batista had wrapped a protective arm around Rey's shoulder's, scowling at JBL. Matt's hands were in his pockets again, and he was looking at JBL apathetically from beside Coach, JBL himself still looking at Rey with obvious distaste. Rey had begun to hum, taking no notice of any of them.

And Coach decided he should call his boss. Dream or no dream, he could not take care of four five year old children by himself.

He would soon find out said boss was having the same trouble as he was.

**So…what do you think? ;) I hope you found this amusing… **

**Next chapter: the rest of the wrestlers (and the divas) who have been turned into children are introduced, everyone meets, Edge gets kicked in the groin, Vince has to change a diaper, hair gets pulled, people get whacked with a spoon, a certain someone gets RKO'd, and someone else wants a smoothie. **

**Review and it'll be up in no time! **


	3. A Headache For Mr McMahon

**Gah. Sorry 'bout the wait. I got caught up in my other story, which is a serious one, and it was difficult to switch back to humor mode. This will happen from time to time, so if it takes a while for an update, don't be discouraged. They **_**will **_**come. **

**Thanks to all you who reviewed. You guys are wonderful, you know. :D **

**I threw in some ECW peoples in here. I got at least two requests for Kurt to be in here, so I decided to put in the people I **_**like**_**, too. Here's a hint: one kicks more than Jackie Chan, the other is suicidal, homicidal, genocidal, and death-defying all at the same time. Three guesses who they are. ;) **

The Chairman of the WWE was getting one _hell _of a headache.

He, his son, and his Executive Assistant were seated at the announcer's table in the arena, watching their superstars who had somehow been turned into children as they debated on what to do. Vince sat in the middle, his chin in his hands, wondering around the steadily growing throb in his head what he had done to deserve this. Shane O' Mac sat beside him, the remaining bewilderment in his eyes only just beginning to fade. Coach was seated by the side of the table, leaning sideways on his elbow, a faint smile on his face.

Coach had called Vince a half hour ago, and was not terribly surprised to hear that the two McMahon's had also discovered some Wrestlers had been turned into children. They had decided to meet here, in the arena, only to find _more _children waiting for them. Nine more, to be exact.

Rob Van Dam, Sabu, Kurt Angle, Booker T, Sharmell, Carlito, Trish Stratus, Maria, and Candice.

The first thought that went through Coach's mind had been: _What are people from ECW doing here? _

But Vince hadn't seemed surprised, and had barked—though rather faintly—at Cena, Michaels, H, Mysterio, Batista, JBL, Hardy, 'Taker, and Orton to amuse themselves. Then he had promptly marched towards the announcer's table, dragging a bewildered Shane and Coach with him.

Currently, Rob Van Dam was bouncing on the ropes of the ring, his back to the announcer's table, laughing and cheering, "Bouncy! Bouncy!"

Carlito, who still looked like he had a brown pom-pom on his head—albeit a smaller one—was sitting on the low wall which separated where the ring was from the front seats. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he looked annoyed. Trish Stratus, her blonde hair pulled up into a loose ponytail, sat beside him, giggling as she tugged relentlessly at his hair.

Maria and Candice seemed to be playing some sort of human version of one-target Whack-A-Mole. Or, more accurately, Whack-A-Candice. Maria, holding a spoon in one hand, stood by the ring, while Candice hid _under_ the ring, but occasionally peeked out nervously. It was then that Maria promptly—almost methodically—whacked her with the spoon. Candice would quickly retreat back under, and Maria would wait with unwavering patience until, eventually, Candice would uncertainly look out again, and the process would repeat itself.

Right in front of the announcer's table, Sabu, wearing glittering gold pants, ran around in circles, his hair streaming out behind him like a banner. His arms were outstretched, as though he was attempting to grasp something, his expression determined.

Kurt Angle, clad in his usual blue, sat cross legged on the floor near Sabu. His eyes were wide and excited, drool steadily dripping from his open mouth, staring at Sabu's glittering pants.

Booker T sat on the steps facing the announcer's table, Sharmell by his side. A red blanket was wrapped around his shoulders like a cape, and a cardboard crown was perched awkwardly on his head. Sharmell had the same kind of cardboard crown, though hers was coated in glitter. She wore a sparkling pink dress, and was eyeing the McMahon's and Coach distrustfully. Booker, meanwhile, was watching Sabu and thoughtfully sucking his thumb.

Triple H, John Cena, and Shawn Michaels sat together on the wall. Shawn was squeezed in between the other two, his head on H's shoulder, his feet propped up against Cena's leg. Cena and Triple H glared at each other over his head, both scowling. Shawn was talking cheerfully, unmindful to the way the other two were burning holes in each other by the way of their eyes. Occasionally, he would ask a question, and his two companions would attempt to outdo each other by answering first. Afterwards, the slower (which was usually H) would glare at the faster with intense, burning abhorrence, while the 'winner' smirked. Shawn seemed to notice none of this, and continued talking.

Matt Hardy was leaning against the wall, looking uninterestedly around the arena, his hands in his pockets. JBL sat beside him, moodily regarding the ceiling. Just a moment ago he had been complaining loudly, but Hardy had silenced him with a hard hand to the head.

Undertaker and Randy Orton were still together, inside the ring, by one of the turnbuckles nearest to the announcer's table. 'Taker was sitting with his back against the turnbuckle, Orton seated before him, both talking in low voices. 'Taker's face was twisted in disgust and fury, and Orton appeared likewise infuriated.

And little Rey Mysterio was having a field day.

He hobbled around the arena, his huge eyes alight with a happiness that no longer seemed quite sane, grinning broadly. He hugged everyone he came across and greeting them in that same childish way: "Helwo, Fwend!" Batista followed his closely, watching the smaller boy the way a parent would watch an overly-active child.

Coach, faintly amused, watched the tiny masked boy approach the trio of Cena, Michaels, and Triple H. He locked his arms briefly around Cena's leg, and chirped, "Helwo, fwend Won Wena!"

Triple H snorted. "'Wena', that sounds an awful lot like 'wiener', no?" John scowled at him, his hand tightening into a fist. He looked as though he would like nothing more than to throttle the other boy.

Shawn giggled. "It _does_, doesn't it? You're a wiener, John!" he said playfully, and kicked Cena's thigh, still laughing.

Cena's scowl immediately faded, and he grinned at the other boy. "I guess I must be," he agreed, and beamed at Shawn's ensuing laughter. Now it was Triple H's turn to scowl, and he crossed his arms and turned away.

Rey, meanwhile, was trying without success to reach Shawn. He jumped, attempting to hug the larger boy, failed, fell back—and without a moment's hesitation, tried again. He didn't seem at all discouraged. Batista, looking amused, lightly tapped Shawn's shoulder. When Shawn looked at him questioningly, he gestured downward at Rey. Shawn snorted and leaned over so Rey could lock his arms around his neck.

"Helwo, fwend Swawn!"

"Hello, Rey," Shawn said, smiling. Rey moved on to Triple H, calling him 'Wiple wach'. Then he hobbled away, humming, with Batista at his heels. Shawn resumed talking, while H and Cena resumed glaring.

Shane watched them, rather intrigued, and a trifle amused. It almost seemed the two were trying to outdo each other not only because they hated each other—which they obviously did—but to make themselves look better in front of Michaels. And Shane noticed Cena was eyeing the way Shawn leaned on Triple H with what appeared to be jealousy.

In spite of himself, Shane O' Mac began to smile—and of course hid it with his hand.

All activity in the room halted abruptly—except for Sabu and Angle: Sabu went on running, and Kurt went on drooling—and all eyes turned to the ramp which led to the ring.

Making their way down it, hand in hand, was a blond boy with sharp green eyes and a red-haired girl. Both had a rather devilish look in their eyes, the boy smirking. It was instantly obvious who they were.

"Edge." Cena addressed the boy in a voice thick with abhorrence.

"Cena," the boy—Edge—sneered his reply.

"Edge," Triple H said, scowling.

"Triple H," Edge responded the same as he had to Cena.

Shawn looked from Cena to Triple H, studying their faces. Then he sat up, sliding closer to H. He regarded Edge, though not with the same hatred and disgust as the other two. "Edge," he echoed, voice neutral.

Edge glanced at him uninterestedly. "Michaels." He turned his eyes back to Cena, the smirk once again spreading over his face.

Cena glanced at the girl at Edge's side. A disgusted expression crossed his face, as though he was regarding some sort of revolting bug. "Lita," he said brusquely.

"Cena," Lita replied mockingly.

"Lita." Triple H addressed the red-head in a low, dangerous tone.

"Triple H."

Shawn hesitated, debated, then shrugged as if to say, _ah, what the hell_. "Lita."

Lita regarded him with no more interest than Edge had. "Michaels."

"Wedge!" Rey cried at the top of his lungs, "Wita!" He rushed to the two, and locked his arms around Edge's middle. "Helwo, fwend Wedge!"

Edge's face twisted in disgust, and he roughly pushed the small boy off him. "Get away from me, you tiny freak."

Rey looked surprised for a moment. Then, much to the surprise of everyone, his huge eyes narrowed, and fury crossed his face. His fists clenched, and he suddenly bellowed in a voice that was surprisingly deep and venomous, "WHO YOU CALLING SO SMALL ANTS NEED TO USE A MAGNIFYING GLASS TO SEE?" And before anyone knew what was happening, he drove a hard knee directly into the groin of the blond boy.

Edge blinked, for a moment unaware what had happened. Then shock and pain crossed his face, and his hands went to his crotch. "Ohhh…" he moaned, and fell back, clutching his groin. He rolled on the floor, moaning in pain.

Lita stared down at him, blinking, looking shocked. Meanwhile, every mouth had dropped open, and all eyes were on Rey. Rey Mysterio himself, meanwhile, had gone back to his usual insanely cheerful self, and looked at Lita with his massive sparkling eyes. "Helwo, fwend Wita!" he chimed, and wrapped his arms around the stunned red-head. Then he turned and hobbled away, back to Batista, humming joyfully.

For a moment, all was silent, everyone staring at the tiny boy, stunned. Then suddenly, Cena laughed, and jumped down off the wall, pounding Rey lightly on the back. "Whoa, man! That was _awesome_!"

Rey grinned at him. "Waweswome!" he exclaimed, and clapped his hands, giggling.

"Well, that was weird," Shawn remarked in a low voice to Triple H, and H snickered and nodded.

Vince and Shane exchanged glances. Coach, in spite of himself, began to snigger helplessly as he watched Edge roll around on the floor, moaning and clutching his crotch, while Lita watched, blinking.

After a moment in which he continued to stare at Rey, Randy turned to Vince, looking bored. "You got any toys, Big Oily Guy?" he questioned. That seemed to be what they had all decided to call the Chairman of the WWE: Big Oily Guy. Shane and Coach both found this amusing, but of course didn't show. Vince McMahon, however, found it insulting and infuriating.

Vince looked at him, and scowled. "Of course not."

Orton sighed. "Figures," he muttered, resting his chin in his palm.

"I wish we could go to Toys-R-Us," Matt Hardy mused aloud, looking listlessly at the ceiling.

Shawn's face lit up. "We're going to Toys-R-Us?" he asked excitedly.

"Woys-War-Wus!" Rey cried at once. "We go Woys-War-Wus!"

Shawn squealed in delight, and proceeded to jump up and down on the wall, clapping and cheering. "Yay! We're going to Toys-R-Us! We're going to Toys-R-Us! We're going to—"

"I POOPED IN MY PANTS!"

Everyone hushed and turned to the source of the rather random—and disturbing—announcement. JBL had jumped to his feet, his arms held high in the air, as though he had just accomplished something great.

Shawn raised an eyebrow at him, and sat back down. "What's _that _got to do with anything?" he inquired.

"I DON'T KNOW! BUT I DID!"

Batista groaned. "_Again_ JBL? Why can't you go on the _toilet _for once? There's a bathroom right there!" He pointed in the direction of the bathroom.

JBL's smile vanished, and he shivered, fearfully regarding the bathroom door. "Because toilets eat people," he said.

"Toilets do not eat people, JBL," Batista said with the air of someone who's had to recount this obvious fact over and over again.

"It would eat_ me_!"

Rey giggled and clapped his hands. "Woilet weat Waybeewell!"

Orton rolled his eyes. "How pathetic," he said, and Undertaker nodded his agreement.

JBL made a face at him, then looked at Vince. "Change me, Big Oily Guy!" he demanded, and grinned.

Vince jumped. "_Me_? Change _you_? Just who do you take me for?" he cried, looking both shocked and infuriated.

Batista rolled his eyes, and glanced down at Rey. "Go to Matt," he said, and Rey instantly obeyed, hobbling to Hardy and seating himself at Matt's feet. Seeing Rey was safely with Hardy, Batista turned to JBL, and tugged his arm. "C'mon," he said, "I'll change you…like always." This last he stated with obvious disgust.

JBL made a face at him, and pulled his arm free of the other's boy grip. "No!" He turned back to Vince, grinning once more. "I want Big Oily Guy to change me!"

"I will NOT!" Vince boomed, his anger growing every moment.

JBL's grin grew wider. "OK! I'll get the diapers!" And he ran out.

Vince stared, his mouth agape, as JBL, excited as can be, ran up the ramp and ducked through the curtain which led backstage, making his way to wherever the diapers were.

As if this wasn't bad enough for the Chairman of the WWE, Booker T suddenly approached him, and gazed up at him, his eyes grave. Vince looked down, mouth hanging open. He abruptly closed it. "What do _you _want?" he growled. He had just about had enough of these children.

Booker T was silent for a moment, his thumb stuffed in his mouth, looking up at Vince McMahon. Sharmell, who had followed, stood beside him, her eyes on Vince as well, her gaze suspicious. Then, Booker T pulled his thumb out of his mouth.

"I want a smoothie," he said solemnly, and promptly delivered a hard kick to Vince's shin.

Vince cried out in surprise and fell back, consequently tumbling out of his chair. His son and his Executive Assistant stared at him, blinking. Meanwhile, Booker T put his thumb back in his mouth, glanced thoughtfully down at Vince—who was now rolling on the floor clutching his shin—then took Sharmell's hand and made his way back to the steps he had been sitting on before.

Watching his boss roll on the floor, much like Edge had been doing just a few moments before, was just too much. Unable to stop himself, Coach began to laugh. Shane began to snicker, but muffled it with his hand.

Vince grabbed the edge of the table, and pulled himself up, glaring venomously at Coach. "You. Are. So. _Fired_," he breathed, but Coach could still not stop. It didn't matter, however—because after all, this _was_ only a dream.

"Bwig Oiwy Gwy gwet kwicked by fwend Wooker Wee!" Rey cried suddenly, and began to giggle. Triple H, who didn't particularly like Vince, began to laugh as well. Cena attempted to glare at him, found he could not, and helplessly burst into hysterical laughter as well. Shawn immediately joined his two friends. Trish Stratus, who was looking at Vince but still pulling Carlito's hair, giggled with them. Carlito began to laugh, also, and Orton quickly followed suit. Then Batista, still relived he would not have to change JBL's diaper again, started laughing hysterically, too. Shane finally gave in, and joined the others. Soon, everyone was laughing—everyone except Sabu, who kept running, and Kurt, who kept staring and drooling—and Vince flushed an ugly red and scowled.

But all laughter ceased abruptly, however, when yet another wrestler-turned-five-year-old entered the arena.

This one was also instantly recognizable: he was huge, towering above the others, and roared as he strode down the ramp, his shoulder-length hair bouncing around his shoulders. It was Great Khali turned massive five-year-old.

Upon sight of this boy, Undertaker immediately stood. Abhorrence burned in his eyes. "Khali," he said with evident distaste. The huge boy roared in response, throwing his hands into the air.

Orton looked up at 'Taker, and Undertaker glanced down at him, and nodded. Orton immediately slid out of the ring, and disappeared underneath.

Undertaker jumped out of the ring and faced Khali. Khali roared again. Undertaker stepped toward him, and proceeded to circle him, lowering his head so his hat concealed his eyes. Khali turned to follow his progress, undeterred. Everyone was silent, watching.

Undertaker halted abruptly in front of Khali, causing the other boy to stop with his back facing the ring. He stood for a moment, unmoving. Then, he slowly lifted his hands, and gripped the brim of his hat. Then, moving with sudden swiftness, he tore of the hat, revealing that his pupils were gone, and only the whites of his eyes were showing. Khali threw up his arms and roared again.

Suddenly, Khali sensed something behind him, and turned. He was still roaring, arms held high. Orton had just crawled out from under the ring, and the moment he saw Khali had turned, he leapt towards the massive boy, twisting his body sideways as he locked his arms around Khali's neck. He then pulled the larger boy down, and Khali hit the ground with a loud _thud! _Khali bounced, and rolled onto his back. He lay, looking dazed.

Orton went to 'Taker's side, smirking. Undertaker's eyes went back to normal, and he looked down at the dazed Khali, his expression triumphant. "You just got _R-K-O'd_," he said, emphasizing each letter, and placed his hat on Orton's head. Orton beamed proudly at this.

The two looked down at Khali, and disgust crossed Undertaker's face again. Orton scoffed, then turned to 'Taker, and tugged on his coat. "C'mon, 'Taker," he said. "Let's go pull Carlito's hair."

Undertaker nodded his agreement, and the two turned in Carlito and Trish's direction.

Shawn suddenly sat up, and jumped off the wall. "Hey!" he called, "I want to pull Carlito's hair, too!"

Triple H followed him immediately. "Yeah, me too!"

John glared at H. "I bet I can pull it ten times harder than you," he declared.

H scowled at him. "Oh yeah? Well, I bet I can pull it a _zillion _times harder!"

"I bet I can pull it a _bazillion _times harder!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Bet I can get to him faster!"

"You're on!"

Both boys' began running at the same time, glaring holes in each other. Shawn watched them, blinking, then rolled his eyes and followed.

"Way!" Rey cried, jumping up. "Want to pwull fwend Warwito's wair woo!"

Carlito's shoulder's slumped. "Carlito does not think this cool," he muttered.

And thus, Rey Mysterio, Undertaker, Randy Orton, Shawn Michaels, John Cena, Triple H, and Trish Stratus pulled Carlito's hair while Carlito scowled and crossed his arms, his annoyance growing steadily with each tug and giggle. Maria continued whacking Candice, Candice continued to attempt to avoid her, Sabu continued to run in circles and grab at something that wasn't there, and Kurt Angle continued staring at Sabu's pants and drooling. Matt Hardy kept his listless gaze skyward, JBL still looking for diapers so Vince could change him. Edge and Lita stood alone on the other side of the ring, whispering, Edge still holding his groin. Batista dutifully kept his eyes on Rey, and Booker T watched them while contemplatively sucking his thumb, Sharmell by his side. Rob Van Dam, who had sat on the ropes and watched all that had happened silently, resumed bouncing on the ropes—and Khali lay on the ground, unmoving, while Shane McMahon and Jonathan Coachman watched them all.

Meanwhile, Vincent Kennedy McMahon was getting one _monster_ headache.

And he had thought they were bad when they were _adults._

**Wow. This chapter turned out **_**long**_**. O.O;; Sorry. It just kinda…happened like that. Anyway, hope you liked!**

**So…review? ;)**


	4. Road Trip

**:D Oh wow! Thanks so much for all the reviews, guys! I wish people would give me this much love for my **_**serious **_**stories…**

**Well, I have DivaDaddyGoGirl to thank for the idea for this chapter. Vince gets the brilliant idea to take the children to Toys-R-Us, and this is what happened on the way. Hopefully you find it amusing, and think them as adorable as I had when I wrote this. Maybe I won't get anyone rolling on the floor laughing their asses off, but I'll get a few snorts out of you, and maybe an "Awwwwww..." or two. :) **

**I took out most of the wrestlers and all the divas for these two chapters. I'm going to give the divas their own chapter later on, and get to the other wrestlers, too. I wanted to reserve these two for my favorite wrestlers. **

**Enjoy!**

Jonathan Coachman silently thanked any and all gods there were that he had decided to drive to work today in a rental van instead of the usual limo. Had he not, things would have been much more difficult.

A while ago, Mr. McMahon had snatched a bewildered employee at random, and ordered him to watch over the children. Then he had barked at Coach and Shane to move their asses, and stormed up the ramp and out of the arena, his son and Executive Assistant not far behind. It hadn't been until they had reached the Chairman's office that they realized they had been followed; Shawn Michaels, Triple H, John Cena, Randy Orton, Undertaker, Matt Hardy, Rey Mysterio, Batista, Edge, and Rob Van Dam were right behind them, looking up at them with curious, excited eyes.

Coach had time to briefly wonder why Edge was alone, and not with Lita, when Mr. McMahon had brusquely announced they would be taking a little road trip—and Coach had forgotten all about Edge and turned to his boss, surprised and confused.

There had been moment of utter silence, and then all the wrestlers turned five-year-olds had begun to cheer at once, in perfect unison. Randy, Undertaker, Shawn, Triple H, and Cena all slapped their hands together. Rey jumped up and down and clapped, Batista and Matt slapped their palms together, and Edge and RVD also exchanged high fives, too excited to fully realize who the other was.

Out in the parking lot, Vince had taken both Coach and Shane aside, and informed them they would be driving to Toys-R-Us. Both were fairly surprised to hear this, and when Shane asked why, Vince had replied gruffly, "They wanted to go, didn't they? Well, we'll bring them…and maybe they'll leave me _alone_."

Mr. McMahon had outright refused to ride with any of the children, leaving Shane and Coach to take them in their cars. Shane, unfortunately, had rode with his father, and so he had to 'borrow without asking', as he put it, one of the employees' cars. Coach had asked how he had gotten the keys to the car, and Shane had replied inexplicably: "I have my ways…" Then he cheerfully recounted to Coach that the car belonged to a woman who was a least twenty years his senior.

Coach decided he didn't need the details.

Shane's 'borrowed' car could only carry four people besides the driver, so Coach had been left with the other six. Thankfully, that was exactly how many passengers his rented van could carry.

Shawn, Triple H, and Cena were in the backseat, Shawn seated in between his two friends. Currently, Cena and H were arguing about something or other, glaring at each other over Shawn, who was hunched over, his elbow resting on his knee, his chin in his palm, evidently annoyed.

Randy and Undertaker sat beside each other in the middle seats. Randy watched the battle between Cena and The Game, amused, while Undertaker leaned back in his seat, gazing out the window. He had his hat back; he was absently tossing it into the air, where it spun sideways, and fell back into his lap. He picked it up again, throwing it up into the air once more. It fell again, and the process repeated itself.

Coach glanced to the passenger's seat, where Edge was seated. He was strangely quiet, completely still. His head was up, and he stared out the windshield with alert, almost unblinking eyes, as though he were waiting for something to suddenly jump out onto the road before them. After a moment of regarding the blond boy closely, Coach realized he was not _watching_, but _listening_—presumably to Cena and Triple H. Coach frowned, his eyebrow cocking briefly, then he turned back to the road.

"Person?"

Coach looked around. Edge was now peering at him. There was a faint frown on his face. "Who are you?" the blond child Wrestler questioned, considering Coach closely.

Coach smiled a little. "You can call me Coach."

"Coach? Like a…a…so…soc…"

Coach's smile widened. "Soccer coach?"

"Yeah."

Coach nodded. "Yeah. Like a soccer coach."

"_Are _you a soccer coach?" Edge inquired, his gaze curious now.

Coach chuckled, and he shook his head. "No. No, I'm not. I couldn't teach soccer if I tried."

"Oh." Edge, seeming satisfied, sat back, and resumed looking out the window. Coach's eyebrow went up again, and he regarded the blond boy with slight curiosity. _What, no snide remarks? _But Edge didn't say anything more, only looked out the window, silent and still as a statue, making Coach wonder.

"Who's Big Oily Guy?" Shawn asked suddenly, speaking over the arguing voices of his friends. Both Cena and H fell silent in unison.

Coach glanced at him briefly in the rearview mirror. "My boss, Mr. McMahon."

"Mr. Mc-_who_?"

Coach chuckled softly. "Mr. Mc_Mahon_."

Randy turned to Undertaker, looking suddenly serious. "I think he's…he's…" His brow furrowed, and he twirled a finger around his ear.

"Lost his sanitary?" Shawn suggested.

Randy turned to him, thought for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah. Lost his sanitary."

Triple H frowned, confused. "What's losing your sanitary?" he inquired.

"It's when you lose your brain," Shawn responded solemnly, tapping his head.

Cena's eyes widened. "Did _zombies _take it?" he asked quietly, looking simultaneously fearful and enthralled.

"Must be," Undertaker mused. "How else could he have lost his sanitary?"

"It could have been the Evil Chickens from Mars," Edge spoke up suddenly, looking thoughtful.

Shawn looked up and blinked. "The _what_?"

Edge turned to him, his expression grave. "The evil chickens that came from Mars. They eat brains."

Randy looked at him with wide eyes, fascinated in spite of himself. "Are they _zombie _chickens?"

Edge shook his head. "No. They're _alien _chickens." He paused, then added gravely, "_Evil _alien chickens."

Cena scoffed. "That's stupid. There are no such things as chickens that came from Mars."

"Yes there are!" Edge retorted. "I seen one with my own two eyes!" He circled two fingers around his eyes and widened them for dramatic effect.

Now Undertaker looked curious. "You did?"

Edge nodded. "Yup. It was running around _headless_."

Undertaker, Randy, Shawn, and Triple H all gasped simultaneously. Cena only rolled his eyes. "Stupid," he said, wrinkling his nose at Edge, "you're making that up."

"No I'm not!" Edge insisted, glaring at Cena.

"Yes you are!"

Coach looked thoughtfully at Edge. "Maybe not, Cena," he said slowly. "Chickens do that…but only for a few seconds after their heads are cut off."

Shawn gasped again. "_Really_?"

Coach nodded. "Yep."

"Whoa," Randy remarked, enthralled. Coach nodded again, smiling now.

Triple H looked thoughtful for a moment. Then he leaned over, looking around the seat at Undertaker. "Hey, aren't _you _a zombie, 'Taker?"

Undertaker wrinkled his nose. "No, I'm not _brainless_, and I don't eat brains, either. I'm just dead."

"He's a special kind of undead," Randy recounted, entirely serious. "Kind of like a ghost, only he has a real body."

Edge regarded Undertaker, looking tremendously engrossed. "Like a Po-lesson?" he inquired.

"Po-lesson?" Shawn echoed, looking enquiringly at Edge.

Edge glanced at him. "When a ghost takes over a persons body," he explained.

Undertaker frowned, considering this. "Well…it could be, I guess…I don't really remember…" He shrugged, looking slightly troubled. Randy patted his shoulder.

"Wow. Cool," Triple H remarked approvingly.

Coach considered them all momentarily in the rearview mirror, smiling. He could see they were all entirely serious, and he couldn't help but be highly amused. He shook his head, chuckling softly, and wondered how Shane was doing.

…

The one and only Shane O' Mac was doing fine. Just _fine_. Oh yes, he was having a field day. There was absolutely _nothing _wrong. Nothing at all.

Except, of course, for one tiny, over-excited five year old in a mask who apparently had never been in a car before.

Matt Hardy, Rob Van Dam, and Batista weren't causing him any problems. Hardy only stared out the window with a bored expression, his head resting on the car door. Rob Van Dam was quiet, his hands in his lap, also gazing out the window, although his eyes were excited. Batista, who seemed to be the most mature of the lot, sat patiently, not talking.

Rey Mysterio, however, could not remain still for more than five seconds—at most. He fidgeted in his seat, and inquired at the top of his lungs what something was that he had seen which interested him—such as a random telephone-pole or tree, or another car, or a building, or a person who passed them on the sidewalk. Batista answered him each time, and mildly told him to be quiet, and Rey would…until he saw something else. Then, once more, he would point at the object of his interest and shout: "What _dat_, Batistwa?"

Shane was beginning to get the headache his father had experienced a while before, and mentally berated said father for making him do this.

After a few miles, Rey seemed to get bored of wondering at the top of his voice what random objects he saw out the window were, and decided to play with the buttons on his door. He soon discovered if he pressed down on either of the white arrows drawn on the black button, the glass on his window would move in the direction the arrow indicated. This immediately became his new object of fascination.

He pressed the down arrow first, and giggled excitedly as the glass lowered, disappearing into the door. When it was half-way down, he switched and pressed the up arrow, and the window immediately began to ascend. When it was up as far as it could go, he switched again, and the window once more began its descent into the door. Rey tried this a few more times, giggling delightedly.

Shane's fingers tightened over the steering wheel. "Will you make him stop that?" he snapped at Batista.

Batista reach over, and gently lifted Rey's hands away from the button. "C'mon, Rey," he said. "Just sit still, OK?"

"Otway!" Rey replied, agreeably enough, and sat back. His eyes were alight, his smile never faltering.

He stayed that way for a while—gazing out the window with fascinated eyes, but not making any noise, and Shane began to relax, sure he'd have peace for the rest of the way.

Then Hardy seemed to have had enough of not causing Shane any trouble, and so he spoke up, his voice bored and impatient, asking the age-old question: "Are we there yet?"

Shane struggled to keep his voice calm. "No."

There was a moment of silence, then, "How about now?"

"No," Shane repeated as patiently as he could.

This time a few moments of silence followed his reply, and then once more, "What about now?"

"No." Patience was becoming more and more difficult to hold on to.

"Now?"

"No."

Silence again. This time it lasted much longer, and Shane began to relax once more, when: "…_Now_?"

Shane's patience finally ran out. "No!" he snapped, turning momentarily to glare at Hardy. Matt was still gazing out the window, looking bored, but not at all deterred.

"Are we there _now_?"

Shane by now had the steering wheel in a death grip. "Yes," he breathed.

Matt's head jerked up, his expression one of actual excitement for the first time. "Really?" he questioned eagerly.

"No!"

"Oh." He frowned, disappointed, and leaned back on the door, shifting his gaze back to the window.

They passed another car. A small bulldog's head stuck out the open window of this one, its tongue out, its ears flapping around it in the wind. Rey leaned over and pressed his masked face to the window, his large eyes sparkling with delight. He watched the dog as they passed, observed how it hung out the window, how its ears flapped around it, and decided he wanted to try that.

He slipped out of his seatbelt easily—it was loose, and he was tiny—and stood, pressing the down arrow on the button which controlled the window. When it was half-way down, he gripped the edge, and proceeded to pull himself up.

The moment before he stuck his head out into the wind, Batista saw what he was doing, and cried out to him. Shane looked up, startled, and the car swerved towards the side of the road. He got control of it just in time, even as Batista grabbed Rey's legs and pulled him down. He scolded the smaller boy while he slipped the seatbelt around Rey, this time tightening it.

Rey looked at him, and giggled. "_Siwy_," was his only comment.

Batista shook his head and rolled up the window. Shane, whose heart was racing as a result of the momentary loss of control of the car, hastily locked it.

Meanwhile, Rey kept on giggling and saying, "Siwy, siwy, siwy…"

Shane had a sudden urge to slam his head repeatedly into the steering wheel.

He began to dread what would happen when they arrived at their destination: Toys-R-Us.

**I'm making Coach a little **_**too **_**nice...-.-;; **

**Review? **


	5. Toys R Us!

**Oh shit and shinola! I am **_**SO **_**sorry this took so long. I had like the Wall of China of writer's blocks…but I **_**finally **_**got it done. It's pretty long, I know (fifteen pages in Word o.o;;) and I apologize about that, too. I kinda got a little carried away…XD **

**Anyway, this isn't a real 'ROTFLMFAO' chapter…more like a 'lol' and 'awww…' chapter. There will be a few laughs, mostly with the DX/Edge/Cena part, I suppose (my brothers damn near laughed themselves into a hernia over it, but they're easy)…and maybe the ending…-shrugs- I dunno.**

**Kudos to all who reviewed! I honestly never expected to get this much love…thank you all so much! Rey Mysterio gives each of you a hug! **

**Enjoy! XD **

Coach smiled once again when his six young companions began to cheer as he pulled into the almost empty parking lot of Toys-R-Us. He glanced in the rearview mirror as he parked the van, and saw Cena, Shawn, Triple H, Randy, and Undertaker all exchange numerous high-fives. Undertaker jammed his hat on Orton's head, and then Orton turned and placed it on Cena. Cena passed it on to Shawn, who then placed it on Triple H. H then returned it to 'Taker, while they all cheered. Edge raised a hand to Coach, and Coach struck it with his own, amused.

Coach glanced out the window just as a black limousine pulled into the parking lot, followed closely by a much smaller, older car—the ones the McMahon's were driving. "The rest of them are here," he announced, and turned to look around the seat at the others. "Ready?"

"Yeah!" all six of his young companions exclaimed at once, and immediately proceeded to hastily unbuckle their seatbelts and jump out of the car.

Coach freed himself from his own seatbelt and opened his door, stepping out into the cool day. Shawn, Cena, H, Edge, Undertaker, and Randy were at his side in a matter of seconds, excitedly regarding the limo and the much smaller car which Vince McMahon and his son had driven here.

Shane was the first to emerge, followed closely by Matt Hardy, Batista, Rey Mysterio, and Rob Van Dam. Hardy looked excited for the first time, though to a much lesser degree than the others. Mysterio was jumping up and down and clapping enthusiastically, his impossibly large eyes alight, seeming unaware Batista was holding his shoulder. Batista himself was looking around at the toy store calmly, though there was excitement in his eyes.

RVD came out last, exiting the car by leaping off the seat. He flipped in the air over Batista and Rey's heads, releasing a gleeful cry. Batista glanced up amusedly as he did so, and Rey leapt up, reaching out with one tiny hand, as though to grab him as he soared over their heads. Rob landed on his feet in front of them, and turned, grinning.

There was a moment of silence. Then Shawn began to clap, cheering again. Triple H and Cena immediately followed suit, and Randy laughed and clapped as well. Undertaker regarded Rob approvingly and did the same. Batista joined them, and Rey began to clap as well, furiously, not ceasing his jumping. Rob beamed at all of them. There was slight color on his cheeks. He looked quite pleased.

"Fwend Rwob Vwan Dwam go _fwying_!" Rey cried, loud enough to be heard even over the clapping.

Matt came around the back of the car just as the cheering and clapping began to cease, his hands in his pockets, looking bored again. "So…are we gonna go in or what?" he inquired, looking at Batista.

Shawn looked around at Coach. "Are we, Mr. Coach?"

Coach looked around at the limo, and saw Mr. McMahon was just stepping out, a scowl on his face, eyeing the children mistrustfully. He nodded. "Yeah, go on."

Shawn and Triple H looked at each other, and wide, childish grins crossed their faces. They both pumped their fists into the air and cried out in unison, "Toys-R-Us! Toys-R-Us! Toys-R-Us!" The two whirled in the direction of the store, and began marching toward it side by side, punching at the sky and chanting the store's name.

Randy grinned at Undertaker, and 'Taker smiled back. Randy punched his fist into the air and cried, "Toys-R-Us!" 'Taker did the same, and they turned and followed Shawn and H, chanting now as well.

Cena and Edge both thrust their fists into the air and cried at the same time, "Toys-R-Us!" Upon hearing the other do so at the same time, however, they abruptly stopped, and glared at one another. Then Cena turned with a scoff, and went after the others. Edge scowled a moment, and then looked at the store. Seeming to abruptly forget all about Cena, he began chanting along with the others, and marched after them.

RVD followed as soon as they passed him, and Rey immediately copied him, chanting and giggling. Batista and Matt exchanged amused glances, and went after them, Batista beginning to chant as well.

Five-year-old DX reached the entrance to the store first, still chanting, and made to push the doors open…but as soon as Shawn and H touched the doors, they slid open by themselves.

All the chanting ceased abruptly, and ten pairs of eyes widened as they stared in awe at where the doors had been, and their owners all released an amazed, "Ohhh…"

Shawn and Triple H withdrew their hands, and looked down at them in wonder. They regarded each other, and turned to the others.

Randy, who was staring wide-eyed at their open palms, stated breathlessly: "You guys must be _magic_!"

"Mwagwic!" Rey cried immediately. "Fwends Wiple Wach and Swawn _mwagwic_!"

Triple H and Shawn looked down at their hands again, speechless. Then H's face turned sober, and he turned to the others once more, raising his closed fist into the air. "That, my friends, is the power of Degeneration-X," he declared solemnly.

Shawn did the same. "Deconseration-X," he agreed.

Triple H's frowned slightly. "_Degeneration_," he corrected his friend.

"Demenastration," Shawn corrected himself.

Triple H slapped his forehead with his palm and shook his head, sighing.

By this time, Vince, Shane, and Coach had reached them, and the Chairman of the WWE was not about to wait for a bunch of little vermin who thought moving doors were the work of magic. "Move your asses!" he snapped.

Shawn gasped and looked at him with wide, shocked eyes. "That's a very bad word, Mr. McSand!" he admonished.

Vince, whose face was beginning to turn red, opened his mouth to correct the small boy on what his name was, but a certain child legend-killer beat him to it.

"No, Shawn, its Mr. Mc_Mayonnaise,_" Randy said matter-of-factly. He crossed his arms over his chest and nodded as though to confirm this.

Cena's brow furrowed. "Mayosaize?" he questioned, slightly perplexed.

"Mayo_nnaise_," Undertaker corrected, and Randy nodded.

"What's that?" Shawn asked, fascinated. He seemed to have already forgotten all about Vince and his vulgarity.

"White stuff you put on sandwiches," Matt, who was standing beside Batista and looking in at the store, replied, not sounding as though he cared if he was heard or not.

Triple H frowned. "Why would you put mayonnaise on _sandwiches_?"

Randy shrugged. "I dunno. Maybe it makes it look cool or something."

Coach smiled a little. "It adds flavor," he recounted, and they all turned to him, looking tremendously fascinated. He glanced at his boss, who was fuming by now, and quickly added: "And his name is Mc_Mahon_."

Shawn frowned for a moment. "McCan?"

"Mc_Mahon_. Say it with me. Mc_Mahon_."

"Mc_Mahon_," all ten of the child superstars echoed in unison.

Coach nodded. "Exactly."

Shawn's face lit up, and he began to jump up and down, clapping. "Yay!" he cried, "I said it right! I said it right! I said—"

This time both Cena and Triple H pounded Shawn once in the head, and he immediately silenced and dropped to the ground, and lay still.

For a moment there was silence as everyone stared down at the small, limp body of Shawn Michaels, then Cena looked up at Triple H and smirked. "Bet I can make it in faster than you."

Triple H scoffed. "You _wish_, Cena."

"Well, why don't we see?"

"You're on!"

And so both boys lined up on either side of Shawn, glaring at one another with burning, unwavering gazes. For a moment they remained that way, until abruptly they both began running at the exact same time, going all-out.

Unfortunately, they were so busy glaring at each other, they didn't bother to look where they were going…and both The Game and John Cena collided hard with the shelf beside the register.

For a moment, H and Cena just stood there before the display of toys they had just hit, dazed and blinking. Then Cena collapsed, followed closely by Triple H. The boxes of the toys on the shelf trembled, tipped…and avalanched right onto the two boys.

"_Twimber!_" Rey shouted gleefully, and fell into a sitting position onto the ground, giggling.

Shawn stood, and blinked at the sight of his two friends sprawled out on the floor buried in toys. He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Why do they always do this?" he asked no one in particular.

Undertaker stepped up next to him, looking at Cena and H, frowning slightly. He turned to Shawn, looking thoughtful. "They do it for you."

Shawn blinked at him. "Huh?"

Before 'Taker could reply, however, an excited Randy jumped in between them, grabbing Shawn's arm with one hand and Undertaker's with the other, and began pulling them into the store.

"Toys-R-Us!" he cried, and the others followed close behind.

The teenage girl at the register, who had been staring and blinking at the two boys who had ran right into the shelf and now lay beneath a pile of toys, now blinked once more at the sight of eight more children file in, cheering and chanting the store's name, followed closely by three adults—two of which looked like they were ready to strangle someone.

"Wow. You guys must've been _really_ busy," she remarked approvingly.

Vince's eye twitched, and he shot the girl a look that would have skewed her in three seconds flat if looks could kill. Before he could do something really drastic, however—like try to fire her, or put her in a match against Big Show—Shane dragged him off in a random direction, muttering some nonsense about respecting elders. Coach watched them go, and went off after the children. _Someone_ had to watch them, after all.

…

Shawn Michaels led Triple H and John Cena by the hands, excitedly taking in his surroundings, trying to look at everything at once, entirely unaware in his excitement his two friends were burning holes in each other with their eyes. Edge followed them carefully, keeping his distance, watching Cena closely.

Shawn reached the first aisle of toys, and looked in eagerly. His smile faltered a little, and excitement turned to curiosity when he glimpsed something that caught his interest. He released H and Cena, and slowly approached it. It was perched on a shelf somewhat higher than he was, and he reached up to take it.

It was an action figure which looked vaguely familiar. He studied it, intrigued, his brow creasing. There was a name on the box below the figure, and he read aloud: "Shawn…Michaels." He gasped. "Shawn Michaels!" He whirled to look at his two companions, who were watching him curiously from the end of the aisle. "Guys! It's _me_!"

Triple H and Cena went to his side immediately, both with curious and mildly perplexed expressions on their faces. "Huh?"

Shawn held it out to them. "It's _me! _See?"

Cena shook his head, confused. "That doesn't look anything _like _you."

"But it's got my name on it! See?" Shawn pointed to the gold letters below the figure that spelled his name.

"Whoa," the Game murmured. "Weird."

Cena considered the toy for a moment, and gasped suddenly. "Hey! Maybe this is one of those things that show you the future!" he cried, looking both amazed and excited.

Shawn regarded the box curiously. "Like one of those crystal ball thingamajigs those creepy dudes have on TV?"

"Dudettes," Triple H corrected absently, wide-eyed and gazing at the action figure.

Shawn nodded vaguely. "Yeah. Dudettes."

Cena nodded excitedly. "Yeah! Like one of those, only a _box_ that shows you a _toy_ instead of a picture!"

"So this is what I'm going to look like when I'm a growed-up?" Shawn inquired, already immensely engrossed.

"Must be," Triple H whispered in awe.

Shawn appraised the toy in his hands for a moment, and made a face. "Man, I'm going to be _ugly_."

Triple H and Cena simultaneously opened their mouths to object, consequently making him feel better and earning the one who could do it faster points against the other, when they were interrupted by a new voice. "You look _mutated_."

Cena and H both whirled, while Shawn only glanced up briefly, making a face at its owner. Edge stood there, looking over Shawn's shoulder at the toy with a slight smirk, though he looked somewhat fascinated. His smirk widened when he saw H and Cena glaring at him with hostile eyes. "Ugliest thing I've ever seen, Michaels," he jeered.

"How dare you say that about Shawn!" both the Game and Cena snapped, and tackled the blond boy to the floor, lashing out at him with their fists. The three rolled around on the floor, pummeling each other, Edge screaming pathetic insults, Cena and H shouting in rage.

Meanwhile, Shawn took no notice of them, as he had witnessed this kind of behavior from the three of them numerous times before. Besides, he had seen something else which sparked his interest.

"John, Hunter!" he cried suddenly, throwing the box with the figure that was supposed to be him aside and grabbing two more from the shelf, his eyes widening. "It's _you_ guys!"

Cena, who was just about to deliver Edge a nice knuckle sandwich, stopped suddenly, looking around at Shawn. Triple H, who was in the midst of kicking Edge in the shin, also looked around. "Huh?"

"It's _you_! Look!" He showed them the boxes.

Cena and The Game both leapt to their feet. "Whoa! _We've _got ones too?" John said breathlessly, staring at the one with his name with wide eyes.

"I guess so," Triple H replied, gaping at his own.

Cena snatched the box with his name. "But…I'm so _ugly_!" he cried, dismayed. "And why is my mouth open like that? Does this mean I won't be able to close my mouth?"

Shawn looked at it thoughtfully. "Maybe it means you'll be a screamer," he suggested.

Cena thought about it a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah, maybe…"

Triple H considered his own, frowning. "My mouth is open," he observed. "Does that mean I'll be a screamer, too?"

Shawn looked at his, and nodded. "Maybe."

Cena looked over at H's. "Wow, H, your nose is going to get really _big_," he remarked with a slight sneer.

Triple H flashed him a glare which even Vincent Kennedy McMahon Jr. could not have matched. He opened his mouth to retort, but Shawn interrupted him.

"Yeah…it is pretty big…" His brow creased slightly, and he looked at The Game thoughtfully. "Maybe you'll tell a lot of lies when you're growed-up, and you're nose will grow, like Pinocchio!" He looked suddenly excited. "Tell a lie, Hunt!"

"Uh…I like Lita?" Triple H stated uncertainly, and Edge glared at him from the floor.

Shawn momentarily made a face, and then his expression turned serious again, and he carefully considered H's nose. After a moment, he stepped back, looking slightly perplexed. "Nope. It didn't get any longer."

Cena snickered. "Maybe because that was _true_," he suggested, smirking.

Triple H scowled. "Yeah…for you."

Cena's eyes flashed. "I do _not _like that…that…_ugly witch_!"

Edge immediately snatched one of the boxes on the self and smacked Cena outside the head with it. "She is _not _a witch!" he snapped.

Shawn looked up, and gasped. "Edge! Look!" He pointed to the box in Edge's hand.

Edge glanced at him, then turned his box over, and gasped as well.

"What?" Triple H questioned, and he and Shawn went to Edge's side. Cena, scowling and rubbing the back of his head, stepped up behind Edge and looked over his shoulder at the box.

"It's…_me_!" Edge gasped.

"Whoa. Talk about ugly," Cena remarked rather nastily.

Edge glared at him. "You shouldn't be talking, _Cena_," he shot back, gesturing to Cena's box. Cena scowled once more at him.

"Why are you making that face?" Triple H inquired, looking at Edge's figure with a raised eyebrow.

"Maybe you're…_consipitated_," Shawn whispered, his voice full of dread, looking at Edge with wide eyes.

Edge's brow furrowed. "Huh? What's consipitated?"

"It's when you _really _have to poop but you _can't!_"

Edge gasped. "You mean I won't be able to _poop_?" he cried, horrified.

Shawn shook his head. "No!" He looked down at his own figure, and his eyes widened further. "Oh no! I'm making the same face! I won't be able to poop either!"

Triple H's face was all eyes. "You guys can't _poop_?" He could imagine what it must be like not to be able to _poop. _The very thought horrified him.

"Whoa," Cena said, his eyes widening as well. "That sounds _horrible!_"

Meanwhile, a woman who was in the store looking for a birthday gift for her son blinked at the sight of four boys—no older than five, from the look of them—huddled together, holding action figures and talking about the inability to excrete solid wastes with absolute horror.

One of her eyebrows rose, and she shook her head, chuckling softly. _Kids_.

…

Undertaker and Randy Orton looked at each other. Slowly, they both grinned, their eyes sparkling mischievously.

They were in the very back of the store with Batista, Matt Hardy, Rey Mysterio, and Rob Van Dam. They had traveled back here in a group for no particular reason, only searching for something interesting. And Randy and 'Taker thought they'd found exactly that.

Before them was a space lined with bikes, small and large, dyed a variety of colors. In one corner there was even what seemed to be a sort of child's motorcycle—and it was this that had caught 'Taker's eye. He gestured to it, and Randy nodded, his grin widening.

Batista considered the two mistrustfully from behind them. He had seen that look before…usually just before something ended up broken or blown up. Needless to say, he did not like it. "Guys…what are you doing?"

Randy looked around at him, that impish grin still on his face. He winked, and stated inexplicably: "You'll see…"

"Bwikes!" Rey shouted at the top of his voice, and attempted to hobble to the bikes, but Batista held him, never taking his eyes of 'Taker and Orton.

"Guys…" he began, but Undertaker and Randy raced toward the little motorcycle before he could finish. Undertaker jumped into the seat, and Randy leapt on behind him, gripping 'Taker's shoulders, excitement in both their eyes.

As soon as 'Taker was in the seat of the toy motorcycle, and he gripped the handlebars, he became a strong, badass biker, who kicked the sorry asses of all who dared challenge him. He tipped his hat to side, placed imaginary sunglasses over his eyes, and flexed his fingers around the handlebars. "You ready?" he asked, and in his mind his voice came out rough and deep.

"You bet," Randy replied, and smacked the back wheel. "Let's tear this place up, 'Taker!"

'Taker leaned over the handlebars, his eyes narrowing to slits, and emitted a series of 'vrooms' to imitate the engine of a motorcycle—though to the two boys, it _was_ an engine. He pulled it up as best he could on its back wheel, and imagined that it reared entirely into a complete and perfect wheelie, and then came down and smoothly began to move forward.

He began to pedal furiously, and Rey, Batista, Hardy, and RVD jumped out of the way as he rode right through them. "See ya, suckers!" Randy called back to them, laughing.

Holding 'Taker's shoulders for support, Randy pulled himself up, and stood on the seat. When he had a firm footing, he let go of his friend's shoulders and spread his arms in his signature entrance gesture. Undertaker looked around at him and grinned.

They rode through the clothes section, knocking down the hangers, leaving heaps of hangers and crumpled clothes in their wake. Undertaker turned sharply as they came to the end of the section, and Randy had to grab his shoulders momentarily to prevent himself from tumbling off. 'Taker turned again, into the aisle leading to the front of the store. He rode down it, increasing his pace, grinning widely.

Randy jumped up again, and pointed ahead excitedly. "Toys ahoy!" he called, cupping his mouth in his hand. 'Taker looked ahead, and his grin widened when he saw they were indeed heading straight for a large shelf with board games and the like stacked upon them.

"Get ready!" he shouted over an imaginary motorcycle engine, and Randy leaned forward over him, gripping his shoulders, preparing to jump.

Undertaker released the handlebars, and he and Randy leapt off the bike merely seconds before it collided hard with the shelf.

"One…" The boxes trembled.

"Two…" They tipped.

"THREE!" 'Taker and Randy shouted together, and the boxes avalanched upon the bike—with was already broken, from the look of it; the front wheel and the handlebars were bent at an abnormal angle.

Undertaker and Randy cheered, and exchanged a series of high-fives. Shawn, Triple H, Edge, and Cena stepped out of their aisle, still holding their action figures, appearing curious.

Randy turned to them, and spread his arms over his head again, smirking. Undertaker turned also, and copied him. They both rolled their eyes in the back of their heads—or Orton did the best he could—and rolled their tongues out on their chins.

Shawn laughed and clapped, dropping the box he was holding to the floor.

"Whoo!" Edge called, cupping his hands over his mouth, and laughed.

"Too bad you couldn't have gotten a bigger bike," Triple H said, grinning as well. "You could've knocked that sucker right _down!_" He emphasized this last word with a stomp of his foot.

"_Dwown!_" cried a familiar high-pitched voice. Randy began to turn, but before he could, he was tackled by a tiny masked boy, who grabbed him around the middle. Consequently, he stumbled forward, colliding with Undertaker, and all three tumbled to the ground in a heap.

"Knwock dat swucker _dwown!_" Rey shouted, and giggled, clutching Randy.

"Uh…I don't think he meant _that _sucker, Rey," Shawn said, laughing, and Triple H snorted.

Unbeknownst to them, however—for the time being, at least—there was _another _sucker that had been knocked down as a result of the little crash. A sucker by the name of Vincent Kennedy McMahon.

On the other side, the shelf 'Taker and Orton had crashed into was lined with Barbies and accessories. Vince had been standing beside the shelf and muttering incoherently to himself, his son and his Executive Assistant watching him with growing concern. When the two child wrestlers collided with the shelf, the Barbie boxes around him shook, tipping dangerously. Shane saw, but before he could shout out a warning to his father, they fell upon him.

Vince cried out in surprise and collapsed onto the ground with the force of the falling Barbies. Coach had to snort at the sight of his boss, the Chairman of the WWE, buried in pink and other bright colored boxes which contained female child toys.

"Dad!" Shane cried, and immediately dropped to his knees and began to dig through the pile, looking alarmed.

The ten child superstars who had accompanied them here peeked into the aisle curiously just as Vince violently pushed the boxes off himself, fuming. His face had turned an ugly red. Coach fancied he could see steam billowing from the Chairman's ears.

"Whoa. Looks like Mr. McMayo…_Mahon_ got buried in Barbies," Edge said, and snickered.

"Oh gosh, Edge…I never knew you were such a _genius!_" Cena cried with mock praise.

Edge scowled, and opened his mouth to make a sharp retort, when he was interrupted by another, louder, deeper, and much more irate voice.

"_WHAT IN ALL THE HELLS IS GOING ON HERE?" _

The ten superstars, the McMahon's, and Coach all turned, to see a burly, angry-looking man standing there. His fists were clenched, his large body actually shaking in anger, looking far more furious—and dangerous—than even Vince ever had.

"Fwend!" Rey cried immediately, and attempted to go to the man, but Batista held him back, wrapping his arms protectively around the smaller boy.

"_WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY STORE?" _

Vince, highly embarrassed at his present state, began to stutter a reply, but the man—most likely the manager, Coach assumed—interrupted.

"_GET…OUT!" _he bellowed, pointing an angry finger at the doors. _"OUT…OUT…OUT!" _He accented each 'out' with a jab of the finger. Vince, Shane, and Coach all decided it was best to obey.

Coach went to the children and began to usher them out, and they went willingly enough—Undertaker and Randy sniggering, Shawn, Triple H, Cena, and Edge appearing both amused and bewildered. Matt looked bored as ever, and Rey looked excited still. Batista eyed the man mistrustfully as he walked out, and RVD hurried out the doors, looking frightened and a trifle confused. Vince McMahon and Shane O' Mac hastily followed.

"_AND DON'T YOU EVER COME BACK!" _the manager shouted as a parting gift, and stormed back into the store.

The thirteen stood out there in the parking lot, looking at the doors, silent, for a few moments. Then, abruptly, making Shane and Coach jump, all ten of the five-year-old superstars began to cheer.

"Let's do that _again_!" Randy cried, and slapped a high-five with Undertaker.

"Agwain!" Rey agreed.

Shawn and Triple H raised their arms over their heads, crossing them to form X's. The others—even Edge, who was too excited to realize just what he was doing—did the same, and they all slapped their hands together.

Vince McMahon groaned. The headache was returning.

And to think, he actually had considered an adult DX his greatest problem…

**So, did you like? I know, long…sorry. I tend to go into incessant detail, and that's probably why. –shrugs- Old habits die hard. **

**The next chapter will be much shorter, and, yes, will come **_**much **_**faster. Of course, reviews would certainly help speed it up...-wink wink- XD **


	6. The' Question

**O.O Oh my God…I actually have a hundred reviews! Thank you SO much, you guys! I am eternally grateful. :D **

**All right, short chapter. Before I move on to the other wrestlers, I wanted to have some more fun with DX, Cena, and Edge. No McMahon-torture in this one, but there will be **_**plenty **_**of that **_**next **_**chapter…-insert maniacal laughter here-**

**Enjoy!**

"Mr. Coach?"

Jonathan Coachman was jerked suddenly from the light doze he had been in. He lifted his head from the table, and found himself staring into the large, eager eyes of five-year-old Shawn Michaels.

Coach blinked, and sat up. Michaels had hoisted himself up onto the announcer's table where Coach sat, his chin resting on his arm, his legs dangling idly. Triple H stood beside him, one arm around his friend's waist, peering enquiringly at Coach. John Cena stood on Shawn's other side, one hand resting on his shoulder, also regarding the GM of Raw eagerly. Edge stood behind them, his arms crossed over his chest, watching Cena closely.

Coach considered them, for a moment unsure of where he was or how he had gotten there. He looked around, blinking, and it all came back.

They were in the arena once more, and the other Wrestlers who had somehow been turned into five-year-old children were gathered in the ring, seated in an awkward circle. Randy, 'Taker, RVD, Mysterio, Batista, and Hardy were taking turns talking, presumably recounting the tale of their recent adventure at Toys-R-Us, while the other's listened, regarding them fascination—and even some envy. Lita was the only one not in the circle; she sat on the edge of the ring, her head resting in her arms on the second rope, watching Edge.

Coach recalled he had been fairly startled when he, Shawn, Triple H, Cena, Edge, Orton, 'Taker, RVD, Rey, Batista, and Hardy had entered the arena, to find the other Wrestlers turned five year olds were still there. The ten superstars who had accompanied Coach immediately ran off to join the others, and Coach had retired to the announcer's table, where he had eventually dozed off, though had not yet submerged completely into sleep.

The McMahon's weren't here at the moment—Vince had, immediately upon their arrival back here, stomped off to his office, without a word to his son or Executive Assistant. Shane had gone after his father, looking concerned.

"Um…Coach?" Shawn repeated, breaking his train of thought.

"Yes?" Coach inquired, regarding him.

"Where do babies come from?"

Coach nearly choked on the breath he had been in the midst of taking, and came dangerously close to falling backwards right out of the chair. The question was completely and utterly unexpected, and, only to make matters worse, not one the General Manager of Raw was accustomed to being asked.

"Uh-uh…" Coach sputtered out, barely managing to keep himself from tumbling out of the chair. "W-what was that?"

"Where do—" Triple H began.

"—babies—" Shawn continued.

"—come from?" Cena finished. The three looked expectantly at Coach, leaning in to hear better, their eyes full of anticipation.

"Uh…well…" Coach frowned, unsure of how exactly to respond. How was he supposed to explain _that_ to three—four, if Edge, who was now considering Coach with slight interest, could be counted—five-year-olds appropriately?

John Cena's eyes narrowed at his plight. "Coach?"

"Maybe he doesn't know," Triple H suggested, looking slightly disappointed.

"But he must!" Shawn insisted. "He's a growed-up! Growed-ups know _everything!_"

Cena, The Game, and Shawn turned back to Coach, and stared at him almost without blinking, waiting expectantly.

"Uh…well…" Coach stammered, realizing now with dismay the heat was beginning to rise in his cheeks. "You see…there's this…thing…and…uh…this other…thing..."

Cena's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Uh…well…" Coach shook his head. "Come here," he said, and motioned for them to come around the table to him. The three immediately obeyed, Shawn leaping into his lap without hesitation, the other two plopping down on the floor Indian-style. Coach looked around, and saw Edge was crouched beside the table, peeking around it uncertainly. "You too, Edge." The blond child superstar hesitated, then crawled out. He sat there on his knees, keeping his distance from Cena and H, who were both glaring at him now.

Coach sighed. "OK…well…there's this…uh…thing like a fish, and…"

"Is it a goldfish?" Cena inquired.

"…What?"

"The fish. Is it like a goldfish?"

"Uh…"

Triple H's eyes lit up. "Can I have a goldfish?"

"Um…"

"Oh! I want a goldfish too!" Shawn exclaimed, clapping and jumping up and down on Coach's leg excitedly.

"Me, too!" John agreed.

Triple H flashed him a heated glance. "My goldfish would be _so _much cooler than _yours_."

John scowled at him. "Oh you _wish_, _Hunter_," he spat.

Shawn considered them, debated, and then opted to ignore them. He turned back to Coach, grinning broadly. "Can I have a goldfish, Mr. Coach?"

"Uh…" Coach blinked again.

"Can we name it Mr. Goldie?" Triple H asked.

"Well…"

"That's a stupid name!" John scoffed, crossing his arms and scowling at The Game.

"_You _have a stupid name!" Triple H shot back.

"Oh, you're sure one to talk, _Triple H_."

"Shut up, _Cena_!"

"_Michaels_ has a stupid name," Edge sneered, smirking.

"_Hey_—"

Shawn giggled. "Why don't we give it a _really _stupid name, like Mr. Cena Goldie Hunter Michaels!" he suggested, grinning.

"OK!" Triple H and Cena agreed immediately, and both flashed Edge one last warning glare, to which he responded with a wider smirk.

"Uh…it's…not a goldfish…" Coach recounted uncertainly, becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second.

"It's not?" Shawn questioned, looking slightly disappointed.

"Uh…no…"

"But can we still have a goldfish?" Cena asked, sounding a little uncertain now.

"You'll…have to…ask your parents…"

"Oh." The three looked down, their shoulder's slumping.

"But you can name it whatever you want."

"Oh!" the three exclaimed in unison, their faces lighting up again.

"So what's the other thing?" Edge questioned. Triple H and Cena snarled at him.

"Well…it's…uh…like an egg…"

"What hatches from it?" Shawn asked.

"…Huh?"

"If it's an egg, something has to hatch from it," he said, nodding as though to confirm it.

"Uh…"

Edge gasped. "Does that mean we hatch from _eggs_?" he cried, looking horrified. "Like…_chickens_?"

"Um…"

Cena frowned. "Does that mean we start out as chickens?"

"Well…"

"We…we…start out as _chickens_?" Edge cried, horrified, and suddenly burst into tears. _"I-I don't__wanna be a chicken!" _he sobbed, burying his face in his hands.

Cena made a face. "Baby."

Coach swallowed. After letting Shawn down from his lap, he went to Edge, and lifted the sobbing child. "Um…hey…it's OK, we don't start out as chickens," he said, giving the blond Canadian an awkward hug.

Edge looked up at him with eyes shining with tears, sniffling. "We d-don't?"

Coach shook his head. "No."

Edge wiped his eyes, looking relieved. "Oh. OK."

Coach brought him back to the chair, and sat down, Edge in his lap. Shawn climbed back into his lap as well, and patted Edge's shoulder sympathetically. "It's OK, Edge. Chickens are birds. We aren't," he said soothingly.

Edge nodded, sniffing. "They're evil," he said quietly.

Cena scoffed, and Triple H rolled his eyes. "Baby," Cena repeated.

Edge snarled and crossed his arms, furiously wiping the tears away. "I just don't like them, OK?" he snapped, his voice wavering slightly.

Shawn's face suddenly lit up. "I bet Big Oily Guy, I mean, Mr. McMahon does!" he exclaimed.

Triple H grinned. "I bet he does," he agreed, and their eyes met.

Coach winced. Something had passed between them then, and nearly identical mischievous smiles touched both their lips. Coach didn't like the looks on their faces. _Oh shit…_

"So what _does_ hatch from the egg?" Shawn asked, turning back to Coach.

"Um…nothing…really…"

Triple H's brow furrowed. "If nothing hatches from the egg, then why is it there?"

"Uh…well…the…uh…fish…swims…into…the egg…"

"Is it painted?" Cena asked.

Coach blinked yet again. "…Huh?"

"The egg. Is it painted, like an Easter egg?"

"Um…no…I think it's white."

"Oh." Cena nodded. "OK."

"So what happens when the fish swims into the egg?" Edge inquired, his eyes completely dry now.

"Uh…the egg…takes a few months…and turns into the baby."

Shawn, Cena, H, and Edge all exchanged glances, looking confused. "The egg 'turns into' the baby?" Shawn echoed uncertainly.

"Uh…yeah…" Coach nodded.

Edge shook his head. "You don't make any sense, Coach."

Coach swallowed once more. "I don't?"

"No. So where do babies come from, anyway?"

"Uh…"

"Hey!" shouted a new voice, mercifully rescuing Coach from having to attempt to answer the question yet again. They looked around, and saw Randy Orton standing on the second rope, Undertaker beside him, waving in their direction.

"Rob and Sabu are gonna have a jumping contest!" he called, gesturing behind him to RVD and Sabu, who were standing on opposite sides of the ring on the top ropes, eyeing each other.

"Want to judge, guys?" Undertaker questioned.

"Sure!" Shawn said, and leapt out of Coach's lap. He ran to the ring, The Game and Cena following close behind. Lita slipped out of the ring and waved over to Edge, who nodded. He jumped from Coach's lap, waved his farewell, and went to Lita, stuffing his hands in his pockets, beginning to sing something which might have been an early, child version of his theme song.

Coach watched them go, and breathed out a long sigh of relief. _Randy, Undertaker, remind me to give you both titles for this, _he thought, and rested his head on the table again.

Yes, this was turning out to be a _long _day…

**Heehee…you **_**had **_**to know I'd do this **_**sometime**_**…XD **

**Start with a **_**brilliant **_**idea from a McMahon, add a fast-talking high-flyer and a disturbed announcer, throw in plenty of McMahon torture, stir in some unbearable cuteness, sprinkle on some apathy and obliviousness, dump in plenty of mutual hatred, mix well with utter chaos, and what do you get? The next chapter of this story! **

**Review and it'll be up before you can say: "WTF?" **


	7. Shane's Brilliant Idea

**I'm so sorry I made you guys wait again. I had a little trouble getting this chapter done. I hope you like it as much as the others. And thanks to all those who reviewed. You guys rock. :D **

**Enjoy! **

Vince McMahon had just about been pushed to his limit.

Since this horrible, confusing, _endless_ day had begun what seemed like a lifetime ago—but was, in truth, only about six or seven hours—these wrestlers, who had somehow been turned into five-year-old children, had been less than tolerable. But since the…_incident _at that ridiculous toy store, it had been even worse.

Michaels, Triple H, Cena, and Edge had been following him around, staring up at him with their huge, excited eyes. They wanted to ask him something—he could read it in their faces. He did not want to know what that question may be. At _all_. He was sure what ever it was, it would ultimately shred his sanity in one foul swoop. _Quite _sure.

He had been attempting to avoid them for half an hour, even retreating to the seats in the arena in an attempt to lose them. Yet still they followed him, never taking their eyes off him. Needless to say, it was getting rather irritating.

"Big Oily—er, Mr. McMahon—"

"Coach!" Vince called gruffly, cutting Michaels off. Coach, who was standing by the ring and watching the others, looked around, inquiring.

Vince stepped over the barricade, and straightened his tie. He glared at Coach in a way which clearly stated he just _better_ obey the orders about to be given to him, or he would face _dire _consequences. "I'm going to my office. Keep these..." He glanced down at the four five-year-olds at his feet, and his face twisted in disgust. "These _vermin _away from me. Understand?"

Coach looked at Michaels, H, Cena, and Edge, and nodded. "Yes, sir," he said, and dutifully hurried to usher the four away from his boss and back to the ring. Vince took off for his office, leaving Coach with the order to keep all children away from him.

"He isn't very nice," Cena remarked, and crawled into the ring with Michaels and H. Orton and Undertaker, who were seated inside the ring, waved at them, and they joined the two.

Edge lingered, and turned to Coach. "He's not very nice at _all_," he said, and crossed his arms.

Coach patted his back, smiling a little. "It's been a long time since he had so many kids around, that's all."

"We're not _that _bad," Edge said, looking moodily at the floor, his lower lip stuck out in a pout. He seemed to hesitate, and when he looked up at Coach again there was a different look in his eyes. "Are we?" He seemed almost troubled for a moment, and then simply shrugged and departed to join Lita by the announcer's table.

Coach watched him go, his expression slightly thoughtful now. Then he looked around, searching for Shane.

The younger McMahon was on the other side of the ring, by the ramp leading into the arena. He was attempting to avoid Trish, who was following him and giggling, a bright blush glowing in her cheeks. Carlito was at her heels, regarding Shane with slight jealousy.

"Mr. Shane?" Trish said shyly, lightly prodding Shane's leg. Shane looked down at her, and she stepped back, her cheeks blazing.

"Leave me _alone_," Shane groaned. "Don't you have something better to do than _stalk _me?"

Trish paused, seeming to actually consider this. "Nope," she said at last, and giggled.

Shane moaned and slapped his forehead. "How wonderful for me," he muttered.

"Yep," Trish agreed, and grinned.

Shane released yet another groan, and sat on the wall separating the ring and the seats, his hand over his eyes.

Coach went to him, and sat next to the younger McMahon. "We have to come up with a way to keep these guys away from your father," he said, looking thoughtfully at the entrance to the arena.

Shane nodded, and sullenly looked around.

Rob Van Dam and Sabu had completed their jumping contest a half hour ago, Rob emerging as the victor. They were now eyeing each other at ringside, standing on opposite sides of the apron, obviously preparing to compete in another contest. Kurt Angle was sitting behind Sabu, drool streaming steadily from his mouth.

Matt Hardy, Rey Mysterio, Batista, and JBL were at the announcer's table. JBL was in the middle seat, gazing crossly at Hardy, who was in one of the chairs at the edge of the table. Hardy himself was leaning back, his hands laced behind his head, looking uninterestedly at the ceiling and completely ignoring JBL. Batista sat beside JBL, one hand gripping Rey's arm, his chin resting in the palm of the other. Rey, his massive eyes sparkling, was attempting to get out of the chair. He was unable to do so because of Batista, but he seemed not to notice this at all. He kept trying to get out of his chair, the joyful expression on his face never changing.

Booker T and Sharmell sat on the steps, their hands linked, Booker's thumb stuffed into his mouth. He sucked it thoughtfully, watching Maria and Candice, who were running in circles before them, Maria brandishing her deadly spoon.

Shane shifted his gaze to the five gathered in the ring. Michaels and Orton were chatting cheerfully. Undertaker occasionally contributed to the conversation, but mostly kept quiet, watching the two. Triple H and Cena were seated a little behind Michaels, glaring at one another, their expressions that of palpable, burning hatred. It was then, studying their faces, that Shane received a _brilliant_ idea.

"I know what we can do!" the younger McMahon declared, standing suddenly. All activity halted, and twelve pairs of eyes turned in Shane's direction. Carlito and Trish, who had seated themselves before Shane and Coach, talking quietly, now looked up at him with raised eyebrows. Coach blinked at him.

"Uh…what?" he questioned, uncertain he desired to know.

"I know what we can do to keep them away from my father! We can put them in matches!" Shane cried, his face positively glowing with his excitement. "_Wrestling _matches!"

"Wrestling?" Shawn echoed, peering at Shane, uncertain of whether to be excited or not. "You mean, like, fighting?"

"Yes!" Shane grinned widely at his own brilliance.

"Cool!" Shawn cried delightedly, throwing a fist into the air. "We get to fight!"

For a moment, all was silent, all eyes on Michaels. Then, beginning with Randy and Undertaker and spreading to the others, an exultant cheer erupted in the room.

"_Fwight_!" Rey cried at the top of his voice, loud enough to be heard over the cheers. "We _fwight_!"

"Yeah!" Randy and Undertaker slapped their hands together. They turned to Shawn, H, and Cena, their hands raised, and all five of them exchanged high fives. Randy turned to Edge, his hand raised, grinning broadly. Edge regarded him uncertainly for a moment, then slid into the ring, and struck Randy's raised hand with his own.

Randy slipped out of the ring, and went to the announcer's table, grabbing one of the microphones. He then went back, microphone in hand. With 'Taker by his side, he began to speak.

"The first match of the day shall be…" He whirled to face H, Cena, and Shawn, "Triple H and John Cena!"

Cena and H turned on each other at once, their eyes burning with abhorrence. They took their places on either side of the ring, burning holes in each other. Randy and 'Taker ducked out of the ring, Randy still holding his microphone. Shawn, his delight dissipating, groaned, and followed them.

"Here we go again," he muttered. He stood on the apron, leaning on the second rope to watch as Triple H and Cena began to circle each other.

Randy, Undertaker, and Edge joined him on the apron, just as Triple H charged at Cena, his head lowered. His body collided hard with Cena's, and he pushed Cena back towards the ropes. Triple H backed Cena into the turnbuckle, pummeling the other boy relentlessly. Cena kicked at him, pushing him back, and the two ended up in the middle of the ring, pounding each other.

Randy snorted. "Yeah. It's funny to watch them fight."

Shawn rolled his eyes. "I only wish I knew _why _they fight so much."

Triple H kicked Cena in the stomach, causing the other boy to tilt forward, his hands going to his stomach. He forced Cena's head between his legs, and snatched both of the other boy's arms behind his back. He did not leap upwards—was not yet strong enough, Coach supposed—but managed to force the boy in his grip hard onto the floor.

"Pedigree!" Randy called, throwing his fist into the air.

"Pedigree?" Edge regarded Randy enquiringly. "Isn't that dog food?"

Shawn couldn't help but smile. "Yeah. Hunter liked the word, so he called his special move after it. Don't laugh. He doesn't like it when people laugh."

"How could you _not _laugh at that?" Edge said, and covered his mouth to stifle the laughter. "I mean, how stupid is that? To name your special after _dog food_?"

Shawn glared at him. "Well, how come you call _your _special 'Spear'?" he challenged. Edge's laughter died, and he scowled at Shawn.

Undertaker, meanwhile, was regarding Shawn thoughtfully. "You mean you don't know?"

Shawn turned to him. "Know what?"

Triple H fell on top of Cena, and hooked his leg, pinning the other boy to the ring floor. Matt stood, yawning, and went to the ring, looking bored as ever. He slid in, and slapped his hand down on the ring. "One…" He slapped again, "Two…" He raised his hand to slap the ring again, but Cena kicked Triple H off, and leapt to his feet. Hardy slid back out of the ring, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

"Why they fight all the time," 'Taker said, smiling a little now.

"No," Shawn said, "I don't. Why, do you?"

Undertaker nodded. "Yeah, silly, they do it for _you_," he said, and poked Shawn's chest playfully.

Shawn blinked. "For me? Huh?"

"For you," Randy echoed. Shawn turned to him, blinking, honestly puzzled. "Don't you see it?"

Shawn blinked at them. "See what?" He looked so genuinely confused, Randy couldn't help but laugh.

"They do it for _you_." He prodded Shawn's nose playfully. "They're fighting over who gets to be your friend!"

"My…friend…?" Shawn frowned, and turned to regard his battling friends thoughtfully.

Cena had backed Triple H into a corner, delivering a series of punches to the other boy. Triple H was forced down into a sitting position, gripping the ropes in an attempt to keep himself up. Cena ceased his attacks and stepped back, snatching H's wrist. He pulled The Game up, and swung him around like a rag doll, into the opposite corner. Triple H groaned and staggered backwards. His body swayed, barely managing to remain upright.

Cena saw his opening, and crouched, waiting. Triple H unwittingly came toward him, dazed, and Cena managed to snatch the other boy around the waist. He rose as high as could onto his feet—which wasn't much higher than his knees—and prepared to heave Triple H over his shoulder with all the force his small, five-year-old body could muster.

Coach watched this all transpire with interest, and turned to Shane thoughtfully. "This must be the early forms of the moves they do now." Shane glanced at him, and nodded distractedly.

"The SU!" Randy cried excitedly, and threw his fist into the air.

"SU?" Edge raised an eyebrow.

"The perfect move for you," Shawn said absently, stepping through the ropes and into the ring. "Screw You."

"Hey!" Edge snapped, looking slightly hurt. Randy patted his back comfortingly.

"Wait, John, put him down!" Shawn called, hurrying to where John stood, Triple H in his grip. John blinked at him, and lowered Triple H, none too gently. H plopped down immediately into a sitting position, rubbing his head and groaning. "You OK?" Shawn questioned, leaning next to him.

Triple H nodded, and glared at Cena, who countered with his own burning gaze. "What's wrong?" Cena asked Shawn, crossing his arms. "I was just about to beat his butt."

"Oh you _wish_, Cena," H snapped, and Cena scowled at him.

"Guys!" Shawn said, wrapping his arms around the necks of his two friends. "You don't have to fight anymore," he said earnestly, and embraced them both. "I like both you guys. You're my best friends!"

Cena and Triple H turned to regard them, both looking a little bewildered, but pleased. "Really?" Cena asked softly.

Shawn grinned at both of them. "Of course! You guys are my bestest buddies in the whole wide world!" He embraced them both lovingly. "You _both_ are."

Cena and H returned the gesture affectionately, and turned to each other, their cheeks flushed slightly. They held each other momentarily, and Shawn put his arms around both of them, resting his head on Triple H's shoulder.

Rey Mysterio, who hated being left out of hugs, broke away from Batista and hobbled his way to the ring. He slipped his tiny arms around Cena's and Triple H's waists, laying his head on Cena's side. "Bwestwest fwends," he said, and giggled.

They broke apart (Cena and H having to pry Rey off—the tiny masked boy retreated to Shawn's side, giggling and saying "Siwy, siwy, siwy…"), and Triple H and Cena considered each other for a moment.

Cena was the first to frown. "I still hate you," he recounted doggedly, crossing his arms.

Triple H's eyes narrowed. "I still hate you more."

"I hate you _this _much!" Cena spread his arms wide, almost hitting Rey in the process.

"I hate you _this _much!" Triple H threw his arms open, and Shawn had to duck to avoid being hit. He paused, then added violently, "Plus _two_!"

"I hate you this much plus _sixty_-two!"

"I hate you this much plus a _bazillion _and two!"

"I hate you this much plus a _gazillion _and two!"

"My hate for you is bigger than the whole wide world!"

"_My _hate for _you _is bigger than your _nose_!"

"_Hey_—" Triple H tackled Cena to the floor. They both began rolling around on the ring floor, pounding each other and shrieking petty insults.

Shawn blinked down at them, his mouth open, for a moment unsure of what had just occurred. Then he closed his mouth, and slapped his forehead. He sighed, shaking his head, and turned and went back to the ropes, where Randy, 'Taker, and Edge stood watching, Edge and Randy snickering.

"I tried," he said sulkily, and Randy and Undertaker patted his back.

All activity ceased abruptly when a loud, spontaneous cheer sounded behind the curtain at the entrance to the arena. A boy—another five-year-old, much to Shane's dismay—ran in, his purple hair bouncing on his shoulders. He did a series of flips down the ramp, followed by another boy, who looked slightly nervous. The purple-haired boy did not slow even as he approached the ring, and he ended up slamming head first into it. He fell back, and lay sprawled out on the ground.

Everyone fell silent, and stared down at the unconscious form of the boy. Even Cena and H stopped fighting long enough to stare at the new arrival. Matt Hardy groaned and slapped his brow. "Oh no…"

"Fwend Jweff! Fwend Mwichael Cwole!" Rey cried elatedly, and hobbled to the two new boys. He cheerfully hugged the unconscious boy—Jeff Hardy, presumably—and then moved on to the other, Michael Cole. "Helwo fwends Mwichael Cwole wand Jweff Hawdy!"

Jeff immediately jumped to his feet, seeming completely unaffected by his little crash into the ring. He proceeded to jump up and down, grinning broadly at Rey.

"Hihihi!" His greeting came out so fast, there seemed to be not even the slightest pause between the words. He then turned in Matt's direction, and bounded to him, his grin never faltering. "HihihibrotherMatt!" he cried, and cheerfully embraced his brother, who looked exceedingly annoyed.

Meanwhile, Shane's mouth had fallen open, and Coach was blinking repeatedly. Both appeared as though they could not fully comprehend what they were seeing. "What the—?" Coach began, and Jeff Hardy turned to him, his grin widening. He bounced his way to them, and jumped up and down before them, waving so vigorously Coach wondered if his hand would fall off.

"HihihiI'mJeffHardydoyoulikemyhairIthinkit'scoolwhat'syournamewhat'syourfavoritecolordoyouknowmybrotherMatthe'sapartypooperbuthe'scoolhihihiwe'regoingtobebestfriends!" he said, saying it all in one breath. Needless to say, neither Coach nor Shane understood a word of it.

"…Huh?" Coach finally said, blinking at the bouncing boy.

Matt groaned once more, and went to his brother, snatching a handful of the other boy's hair. "Move it, Jeff, you're coming with me," he muttered, and proceeded to drag Jeff up the ramp by his hair.

"Byebyebye!" Jeff called enthusiastically, just before Matt pulled him through the curtain and out of the arena.

"Bye bye!" Rey called, waving.

Michael Cole, meanwhile, slipped into the seat beside JBL. "Hey," he said, rather diffidently.

"Hey, Michael!" Shawn greeted from the ring, waving. He returned the gesture shyly.

"Yo," Batista said. JBL only scoffed, turning to the ring.

"Is someone going to be pinned here or what?" he questioned, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair.

Carlito's face lit up. "Oh! Carlito pin someone! Carlito pin someone! That _cool_!" he cried, clapping and jumping up and down. He ran to the ring, climbed up onto the apron, and attempted to duck through, but suddenly halted halfway through the ropes.

He frowned, and attempted to pull himself through, but a sharp pain forced him back. It was then he realized his hair was caught in the rope. "Carlito _stuck_!" he cried, fruitlessly attempting to pull himself free.

Randy locked eyes with Edge momentarily, and the two turned in Undertaker's direction. For a moment all three were silent, their faces blank, staring at each other. Then, abruptly, at the same time, all three burst out laughing. Cena and Triple H stopped pounding each other, and looked at Carlito. Seeing the other boy tug at his hair, trying to free himself, the two burst into hysterical laughter as well. Rey, seeing them laugh, began to giggle as well. Batista snorted, and JBL laughed loudly and raucously. Sharmell giggled into her hand, and after a moment Trish joined her. Even Shawn had to put a hand over his mouth stifle his snickering.

Carlito scowled at them. "Carlito no need to be laughed at, Carlito need _help_! Help—cool!"

Trish jumped onto the apron, and went to him. "Hold still," she said, and grabbed the rope. After a moment of pulling and Carlito's cries of pain, Carlito's hair was free, and he was able to step fully into the ring.

"Cool," he said, and grinned sheepishly at Trish. She rolled her eyes and jumped down, but she was smiling.

Carlito cleared his throat, still blushing slightly in embarrassment, and went to the middle of the ring. "I spit in the face of people who don't want to be cool," he announced in the deepest voice he could muster, and attempted to bite down on the apple in his hand, only to get air. It was then he realized he didn't _have _his apple.

He blinked down at his empty hand, for a moment unable to comprehend what he was seeing—or, more precisely, what he was _not _seeing. "Carlito's apple not here," he said, and suddenly whipped his head around. "Carlito's apple is _gone_!" He fell to his knees, and began searching frantically for his missing apple, tears piling up behind his eyes. "Where go Carlito's apple?" he cried urgently, and jumped out of the ring, diving underneath it. Shawn, Triple H, Cena, Edge, Randy, and Undertaker slid out of the ring after him to look at where he had slipped under, their expressions amused.

Carlito emerged a moment later, sobbing. "_Carlito's apple is gone!_" he wailed, falling into a sitting position by the ring, his face in his hands. Trish went to him, a mixed expression of amusement and concern on her face, and gave him a brief hug.

"Where go Carlito's apple?" Carlito sobbed, looking up at her with huge, wet eyes.

"Where _did _it go?" Trish questioned, looking up at the six boys standing at the corner of the ring. All six shrugged.

JBL, stopping in mid-bite, looked up from the bright green apple he had found under the table and had since been munching on. "Uh…apple?"

All eyes turned in his direction. Shawn gasped. "He stole Carlito's apple!" he shouted angrily, looking infuriated.

"Unceptable!" Cena cried, jabbing an irate finger in JBL's direction.

"What he said!" Triple H declared, pointing angrily at JBL.

Shane leaned closer to Coach. "Un_ceptable_?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

Coach shrugged. "Kids."

"Carlito's apple!" Carlito cried with mixed excitement and horror. He ran to the announcer's table where JBL and Batista sat, and snatched back his apple. He inspected it, and gasped in utter horror when he saw the massive bite JBL had taken out of it. "Carlito's apple! You ate my apple!"

"JBL…" Batista said with the air of a parent who has caught their child doing something he should not be, his tone promising consequences. He crossed his arms and glared at the boy beside him.

JBL flinched back from his gaze. "What?" he said innocently, and gave Batista and Carlito a huge grin.

Trish, Shawn, H, Cena, Orton, Edge, and 'Taker immediately went to Carlito's side, all glaring at JBL. "What have you got to say for yourself?" Undertaker demanded, slamming his fist down on the table, making JBL jump.

"Sway fwor ywourswelf!" Rey echoed, slamming his small fist down on the table like he had seen Undertaker do.

"I just found it!" JBL cried desperately. "I didn't know it was Carlito's! Honest!"

Undertaker and Randy exchanged glances, and Randy nodded. Undertaker returned the gesture, and both grabbed a microphone and ran back to the ring. The others turned to them as Randy began to speak. "Our next match will be…"

"Carlito versus _J-B-L_!" Undertaker finished, accenting every letter with a jab of his finger in JBL's direction.

"Now _that's _cool," Carlito said, grinning, reading himself for an attack.

"But he will not be alone," Randy said in a low, grave voice which promised imminent danger. He smirked at JBL's shocked and horrified face. "In his corner it will be…Shawn Michaels…" Shawn jumped onto the apron, gripping the ropes.

"Triple H…" Triple H joined Shawn, the smirk on his face promising serious hurt for JBL.

"Demansapation-X!" Shawn declared, throwing a triumphant fist into the air.

"_Degeneration_," Randy, Undertaker, Edge, Cena, and Triple H corrected him at once.

"That too!" Shawn responded cheerfully.

"John Cena…" Undertaker continued, turning back to JBL. Cena leapt onto the apron beside Shawn, cracking his knuckles and grinning impishly at JBL.

"Edge…" Edge attempted to do the same as Cena, grimaced, and shook his hand when he realized it hurt. He pulled himself up beside Cena, his knuckles in his mouth. Cena and Triple H snickered, and Edge scowled at them.

"Batista…" Batista got up from his chair, and went to the ring, rubbing his hands together and grinning wickedly at JBL.

"Randy Orton…" Undertaker turned to Randy, his hand held out. Randy raised his arms, smirking.

"Undertaker…" Randy gestured to Undertaker, and 'Taker rolled his eyes in the back of his head, a wicked smile on his face.

"And Trish Stratus!" The two whirled in Trish's direction, and Trish threw a fist into the air, glaring at JBL.

"And in JBL's corner…" Randy resumed, turning to JBL.

"Absolutely no one!" Undertaker finished, and both threw their microphones down, joining the others in the corner of the ring.

JBL folded his hands on the desk, and said solemnly, "Michael Cole, I am _so_ screwed."

"JBL, yes you are," Cole replied soberly.

"Michael Cole, I just pooped in my pants."

Cole's face twisted in disgust at the sudden, foul odor which surrounded him. "JBL, yes you did."

"Michael Cole, I'm about to get my butt kicked six ways to Sunday."

"JBL, yes you are."

JBL nodded soberly, for a moment only sitting there, staring blankly at Carlito, who looked more than ready to kick himself some apple-stealing ass. Then, abruptly, he began to scream. The diaper-clad boy made a dash for the exit. It was Rob Van Dam and Sabu who stopped him, both frog-splashing him at once. Maria, wanting a taste of the action, went over to them and smacked each of them with her spoon.

The other's came and surrounded JBL, looming over him like small monsters. JBL had time to look around and visibly gulp, before he was speared into the wall by Edge.

And thus, JBL got his ass handed to him, while Jonathan Coachman and Shane McMahon watched, blinking and speechless.

Something tugged at Shane's pant leg. "Mr. Shane?" a shy voice spoke beside him. Shane looked around to see Candice Michelle standing there, smiling tentatively up at him, her cheeks flushed slightly.

Shane O' Mac groaned, and slapped his brow with his palm.

Would this day _ever _end?


	8. The Quest Begins

**I'm sorry to say the review amounts have significantly slowed. I don't know why that is—maybe it's just I've been taking so long. Writer's block has been stalking me since this story began, and it hit again with this chapter, this time with a steel chair. But I kicked out, and I Pedigreed and Sweet Chin Music'd its sorry ass. But even if there's not as many as before, I'm still getting more reviews than I ever have before. Heh, at 135 reviews and counting, I'm not complaining. Thanks, guys. :D **

**I actually began this chapter a while ago, back when we were still in the 'Mr. McMahon likes cocks' phase. Obviously, I got stuck. But, as I said, I kicked writer's block's ass, so I finished the chapter now. I did it mostly for myself—amusing myself, you know—but I'll give it to you anyway, in case anyone's interested. **

For the second time in as many hours, Vincent Kennedy McMahon wondered what in all the hells he had done to deserve this.

_He_ was supposed to be the one torturing helpless superstars, not the other way around. DX as adults were bad enough—now they, and just about everyone else, were five-year-old children. _Children_. Maybe it was only a nightmare—surely things like this could not happen in the real world—but it was a damn _long_ one. And whether this was dreamland or nightmare-land, it was real enough. His headache, which was milder now but not entirely gone, was testimony enough.

Perhaps he shouldn't have eaten all those hot wings before going to sleep. Maybe then he would be having one of his usual 'take-over-the-world-and-make-wrestlers-do-hard-labor' dreams. Yes. That sounded very good right about now.

"Mr. McMahon? Big Oily Guy?"

Vince lifted his head from his desk, fighting the urge to scream and pummel the eight who stood before his desk, peering at him curiously.

Triple H and Cena had hoisted Michaels up onto the desk, and were holding him there, one hand under each of his legs, the other on his back. Edge stood on Triple H's other side, looking over the desk at Vince enquiringly. Lita was at his side, her arms crossed, regarding Vince with the same questioning expression. Orton and Undertaker stood on either side of Edge and Lita. Orton leaned forward on one elbow, Undertaker beside him, peering inquiringly at Vince over the desk. Mysterio had pushed himself right onto the desk, and was now sitting cross-legged on the desktop, regarding Vince with those impossibly large, impossibly _bright _eyes.

"How did you get in here?" the Chairman breathed, forcing his fists to unclench.

"The door was open," Orton said simply. Vince's eye twitched.

"Mr. Coach—" Shawn began.

"—said you like—" John continued.

"—cocks. Is that true?" Triple H finished. The seven leaned in to hear the answer, evidently excited.

Rey clapped excitedly and leaned closer as well. "Wike cwocks?" he questioned.

That did it. Poor Vincent Kennedy McMahon could take no more. Still twitching, his hands balled into fists, the Chairman of the WWE promptly fainted. He fell backwards in the chair, and lay sprawled out on the ground. Shawn, Edge, Lita, Triple H, 'Taker, Orton, and Cena blinked down at him, slightly bemused, while Rey only giggled.

"Was it something I said?" Shawn asked. The others shrugged.

Shawn frowned, and leapt down from his perch atop the desk. He went around the desk to where Vince lay, unconscious. He seated himself beside the Chairman, resting his chin in his hand, regarding the older McMahon thoughtfully. "Do you think he likes cocks?" he questioned, turning to the others.

Triple H crossed his arms and contemplatively rubbed his chin, considering Vince also. "I think he does," he said at last, and nodded. "Yeah. I think he's definitely the type to like cocks."

"Bwig Oiwy Gwy wike cwocks," Rey agreed from atop the desk.

"Maybe we should get him some. Maybe he'll feel better if we do," John suggested, sitting down next to Shawn.

Triple H seated himself at Shawn's other side, looking thoughtful. "Do you think there'd be any around?"

"Maybe," Orton said, and turned to Undertaker. "He would have some around, right? I mean, if he likes them so much…"

'Taker nodded. "Yeah. He'd have some around."

"What are cocks, anyway?" Lita questioned.

"Boy chickens," the five boys replied at once.

Edge started, and his eyes widened. "Ch-chickens?" he echoed fearfully, backing up, his face all eyes. "W-we ha-have to f-find _ch-chickens_?" He suddenly—though not so unexpectedly—burst into tears. "I-I don't w-want to f-find _ch-ch-chickens_!" he wailed, sobbing uncontrollably. Lita, worried, put her arms around him, and hugged him briefly.

Alarmed, Randy went to him immediately, slipping an arm around Edge's shoulders. "Hey," he said, rubbing his back soothingly. "They're not _chickens_, they're _roosters_, OK?"

Edge looked at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. "R-really?"

"Really. OK?" Lita said, and held him tightly for a moment.

Edge sniffed, brushing away his tears, and nodded. "O-OK."

"Baby," Cena and Triple H scoffed, looking at Edge with identical expressions of disdain. Shawn slapped both their knees, glaring at them briefly. Both shrugged and looked innocently at him.

"All right," Undertaker said decisively, "let's go find Big Oily Guy some cocks."

"Yeah!" the other seven proclaimed, throwing their fists into the air.

…

Kane had a problem. Five problems, to be more precise. Five jumping, _green_ problems. Five jumping, green, annoying problems he would have to take care of very soon, before they drove him insane.

"Fairies," he muttered darkly, and shook his head. He'd never liked fairies. Little flying monsters were all they were when you got right down to it. In this case, little flying _green _monsters. Kane detested the color green. _Greatly _detested the color green.

The fairies in question were five jumping five-year-olds who called themselves the Spirit Squad, four of which were currently laughing and leaping in circles around the small, masked boy dressed in red and black, who sat moodily in the middle of the room, his arms crossed. The fifth, Mikey, was sitting on the couch across the room, watching with amusement, a jar of pickles in his lap.

Kane growled under his breath as the four Spirit Squad members continued to jump around him, taunting him and laughing. Kane was no stranger to this kind of treatment, as he had a brother who enjoyed teasing him in any way, shape, or form, and could handle it—but they were doing something else, something utterly _unacceptable. _

They were trying to take his rubber ducky.

The aforementioned rubber ducky was tucked safely in the crook of his arm, but they had been grabbing at it since they had begun taunting him. Kane would not stand for this. _No one _touched Bobby.

_No one_.

…

Triple H gripped the doorknob, and turned to the others. His expression was dogged. He looked at Shawn, and nodded. Shawn returned the gesture, and placed his hand over The Game's. He turned to the others with an identical set expression on his face. Cena joined them, placing his hand over Shawn's, reflecting the same look.

Triple H glared at him a moment, and laid his other hand over Cena's, turning back to the others with a scoff. Cena gave him a hostile look, obviously thinking something along the lines of: _oh no, you don't. _He then proceeded to place _his _other hand over H's. H instantly slipped his hand out from under Shawn's, and slapped it over Cena's. Cena responded without hesitation, doing the same with his own. They went back and forth for a few moments, slapping their hands over each other's on Shawn's, glaring holes in one another.

Randy locked eyes with Undertaker briefly, and they both exchanged amused glances with Edge and Lita. Edge rolled his eyes, and Randy, 'Taker, and Lita all began to snicker. Rey giggled along with them, and began slapping his palms over the backs of his hands, imitating what H and Cena were doing. Shawn rolled his eyes, looking highly annoyed.

Finally, after five minutes of Cena and H's hand war, Shawn decided enough was enough. He slapped his other hand down over Cena's, and glared at the two. They both gave him innocent looks, flashed each other warning looks, and the three turned back to the others. Shawn muttered something under his breath. Triple H flinched slightly.

"_Anyway_," Shawn said. "Team, behind this door may be…" He trailed off purposely.

"…The cocks," Cena finished with a slight ominous air. The others regarded them soberly.

Triple H's eyes narrowed. "Are you ready?"

The others nodded. Their faces were set, almost solemn, their eyes wide with anticipation.

"No, team, I said…are…you…_ready_?"

"Yeah!" they all exclaimed, throwing their fists into the air.

"Then let's go!" Shawn said, and the three turned the knob at the same time, throwing the door open.

…

Kane was the first to turn to the new voice, which came from behind the door, followed by other voices. Kane thought he recognized them, but it wasn't until seven boys and one girl, all his age, filed in that he realized where. And the sight of one boy made him jump to his feet.

"Brother!" he cried, seeing the boy dressed in black—Undertaker, no doubt.

Undertaker blinked at the masked boy, surprised to see him. "Brother? Kane?"

"Fwend Kwane!" Rey cried elatedly, and tried to go to him. Shawn held him back.

Randy frowned, considering this new boy carefully. "This is your brother, 'Taker?" he questioned.

"Yeah." Undertaker squinted at Kane, trying to look stern. "Kane, what are you doing here?"

"Trying to get away from _these _guys," Kane replied darkly, pointing to the Spirit Squad. The four boys had retreated to the couch with Mikey and his pickles, and were now huddled around him, eyeing the eight mistrustfully.

Triple H yelped. "F-Fairies!" he cried, in absolute horror, his eyes wide. Quickly, he ducked behind Shawn. He crouched behind his friend, shuddering, his hands over his eyes. "Don't look them in the eyes, guys! They're _evil_!" he warned, his voice shaking slightly.

Shawn patted his shoulder. "It's OK, H," he said soothingly, and turned to glare at the Spirit Squad. "Me and John will take care of these fairies, won't we, John?"

John grinned and nodded. He turned to the Spirit Squad, cracking his knuckles. "Oh yeah."

Edge nodded in agreement. "As much as I hate you guys, I think I wanna take out these fairies, too."

"We're not _fairies_!" Kenny retorted, glaring back at Shawn. "We're _cheerleaders_!"

"Siwy," Rey said, and giggled. "You awen't _Cheweaders_! You _fwairies_!"

Shawn blinked, and turned to Cena, genuinely confused. "There's a difference?" Cena shrugged, also looking perplexed.

While the rest of the quintet scowled, Mikey only looked thoughtfully at Shawn, Cena and Edge. He held up his jar of pickles, and said slowly, "The most important thing about pickles is you have to tend to them every day..."

Shawn and Cena exchanged looks, but opted to ignore him. They and Edge advanced slowly on the five child cheerleaders, brandishing their fists and glaring. The five backed up, Kenny and Nicky pulling Mikey, who was still talking about how to tend to pickles, along.

Shawn was the first to strike, delivering a hard kick into Kenny's shin. Kenny collapsed with a howl of pain. Cena attacked Nicky, punching him in the stomach. The other Spirit Squad members attacked at once, and thus the battle began.

Meanwhile, Kane had gone to Undertaker, holding up his rubber ducky. "I kept him safe for us," he told his brother, and handed him the duck.

"Jeffery!" Undertaker exclaimed, taking the duck. He hugged it, grinning. "I missed you, Jeffery!" he told the rubber duck, holding it tightly.

"_Bobby_," Kane corrected, adjusting his mask. "His name is _Bobby_."

"No," Undertaker recounted, "his name is _Jeffery_."

"_Bobby_," Kane said doggedly.

"_Jeffery_." Undertaker was beginning to get angry.

"_Bobby_!" Kane snapped.

"_Jeffery_!" 'Taker retorted, lashing out at Kane.

"_Bobby_!" Kane shot back, slapping Undertaker outside the head.

"_Jeffery_!"

"_Bobby_!"

"_Jeffery_!"

"_Bobby_!"

"OK!" Randy called, loud enough to be heard over their shouting, and snatched the duck away from 'Taker. Kane glared at him. Undertaker regarded him with a slightly questioning expression. "Why don't we comprosise? We'll call it Bobby Jeffery."

"All right," Kane muttered begrudgingly, crossing his arms.

Undertaker was almost pouting now. "Why can't it be Jeffery Bobby?"

"Fine. Jeffery Bobby," Randy agreed.

"Bobby Jeffery!" Kane said stubbornly. "His name is Bobby Jeffery!"

"Jeffery Bobby!"

"Bobby Jeffery!"

"Jeffery Bobby!" Undertaker slapped Kane again.

"Bobby Jeffery!" Kane hit him back, snarling now.

"Hey, hey!" Randy snapped, snatching both their hands so they couldn't strike each other. "Why don't we just name it Jeffery Bobby Bobby Jeffery?"

"Fine," Undertaker agreed, taking a step back.

"But why can't we name it Bobby Jeffery Jeffery Bobby?" Kane retorted.

"Jeffery Bobby Bobby Jeffery," Undertaker said decisively.

"Bobby Jeffery Jeffery Bobby!" Kane insisted.

"Jeffery Bobby Bobby Jeffery!"

"Bobby Jeffery Jeffery Bobby!"

"Jeffery Bobby Bobby Jeffery!"

"Bobby Jeffery Jeffery Bobby!"

Undertaker tackled Kane, and the two began rolling around on the floor, pounding each other and shouting the name they wanted for the rubber duck.

Randy groaned, and slapped his forehead. He was getting a headache. "Now I know how Shawn feels," he muttered dully. He shook his head, and watched Undertaker and Kane pound each other on the floor.

"Wep," Rey agreed, and giggled. He took the duck from Randy. "Weffwey Bwobbwy," he said, and walked away.

Mikey, who had escaped unscathed from the brawl between Shawn, Cena, Edge and the rest of the Spirit Squad, now walked up to a very annoyed Randy. He held out his jar of pickles. "Pickle?"

…

Matt Hardy yawned again as he wandered the halls with Michael Cole, exceedingly bored and wishing JBL was around so he could slap the diaper clad boy. He was searching for his brother, Jeff Hardy, who had escaped down this very hall and disappeared. Man, could he _move_. Almost as fast as he could talk.

He wasn't really worried, even if his brother had a tendancy to unwittingly cause mass destruction wherever he may wander. Why should he care? This wasn't his house. His only concern was that Jeff may find sugar. That would not be good. When Jeff got sugar…well, it was not a pleasant experience.

Cole opened another door, and peeked in. "Jeff?" he called, but there was no response. Disappointed, he stepped back, and shut the door. "Nope."

"Dammit," Matt muttered, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Michael smiled. "If Shawn was here, he'd kick your butt."

Matt shrugged indifferently, and continued on, Cole at his heels.

…

Eric Bischoff had expected his return to Raw to be triumphant, huge—something talked about worldwide. Sure, the fans didn't exactly have a lot of love for him, nor did most of the superstars. Still, whether they liked it or not, he had made his mark on the wrestling business. Certainly, he had expected his return to be enjoyable, being able to torture helpless wrestlers again.

But Bischoff had _not _expected _this. _

There was a boy, no older than five, jumping around the room. He was moving faster than a roadrunner on steroids, cheering and whooping as he did so. Bischoff, meanwhile, cowered on the sofa, his eyes wide.

The boy seemed to notice him, as he suddenly leapt in front of him. The boy jumped up and down before him, grinning. His hair, which was now red, bounced on his shoulders. "HellomisterI'mJeffHardyI'mfivehaveyouseenmybrother?"

"…What?" Bischoff said, blinking. The boy had said all of that very fast—faster than he moved, if that was possible—and Bischoff hadn't understood much. But he thought he had caught one part of what the child had said, and now he thought he recognized him. The former GM of Raw blinked again.

"…_Jeff Hardy_?" he managed, his shock and incomprehension evident.

The boy seemed delighted, and his head bobbed up and down so fast Bischoff feared it would fly off. "Yepyepyep!"

Bischoff blinked again. "What the _hell_—?"

"I'mlookingformybrotherhe'sreallyshortandhelookslikeafish!"

"…Huh?"

"I do _not _look like a fish!"

Bischoff almost groaned as he looked around. Two more boys—same age, from the look of it—were standing in the doorway. The one in front, who had black hair pulled behind him in a ponytail—and who really did look something like a fish, now that Bischoff looked closer—glared at the jumping boy, his hands on his hips.

"Fishface!" the jumping boy—Jeff Hardy—cried delightedly. He bounded to the boy, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"Stop _calling _me that!" the boy who looked slightly like a fish snapped, and shoved the bouncing boy away.

There was only one person Bischoff knew of who looked like a fish.

"_Matt_ Hardy?"

The Hardy boy blinked at him. "Who are you?"

"He'smynewfriend!" Jeff proclaimed, and bounced his way across the room. He leapt at Eric Bischoff, but he was moving much too fast, and missed the bewildered GM by a mile. Instead, he crashed right into the bathroom on the other side of the room.

Matt blinked, and then groaned. "Jeff!" He ran to the bathroom, peeking in uncertainly. "Michael!" he called back over his shoulder.

The boy who had accompanied him immediately ran to his side, and Bischoff heard him gasp.

Bewildered, Bischoff stood, and walked over to them. He looked in.

Jeff Hardy was leaning over the toilet bowl, his head concealed from their view. His hands gripped the seat, and he seemed to be struggling—as if he was attempting to pull himself out. He was stuck.

Bischoff snorted, slight amusement taking the place of the bewilderment. But his amusement faded quickly as a sharp pain shot up his leg, forcing him to collapse onto the ground. He looked around, startled, clutching his leg. After a moment he realized Matt Hardy, who was now glaring at him, had kicked his shin.

"Don't laugh at my brother!" he snapped, and turned with a huff.

Bischoff blinked yet once more, his mouth falling open. "Hey—"

Hardy ignored him, going to his brother. The other boy, the one Hardy had called Michael, looked at Eric apologetically, but said nothing.

Hardy snatched a handful of his brother's hair, and pulled. A muffled yelp sounded in the bowl, and Matt ceased his pulling. "Help, Michael!" he called, and gripped his brother's shirt.

Michael ran to him immediately, and took his own handful of the other boy's shirt. The two boys proceeded to pull as hard as they could.

After a moment of tugging, they managed to pull him out. All three stumbled back, toilet water flying everywhere, splashing over Bischoff and the other two boys. They slammed into the wall, letting go of Jeff, who immediately resumed jumping, grinning at them.

"Igotstuckinthetoiletthanksguys!" he cried excitedly, and bounded out of the room, cheering.

"Here we go again," Matt Hardy groaned, and stood, rubbing his back.

"Déjà vu," Michael agreed, and rose to his feet as well. "Let's go find Batista," he suggested. "He'll know what to do."

Matt nodded. "He _always _knows what to do."

They walked out, leaving a bewildered Bischoff to stare after them from his spot on the floor, still holding his aching shin. Then he stood, and followed them, thinking he'd go look for Vince McMahon.

If only he had known what he was getting himself into…

**Heh, heh…bet you thought I wasn't going to put Jeff, did you? Heh. And Eric Bischoff makes his guest appearance! I don't know if he'll be in future chapters…maybe I'll just have him wander the halls for the entire fic. –shrugs- I don't think he's significant enough to torture, do you? For those of you still following this story, tell me if you'd like me to torture him with our five year old friends. Maybe I even will, if I deem him significant enough.**


	9. Lost and Found

**O.O Never mind what I said about the reviews being slow. LOL…I guess a lot of people still giggle over the whole 'Mr. McMahon likes cocks' thing the brilliant duo of Degeneration-X started. I hope I'm making it even better for you. :D Thanks for all the reviews!**

**I have decided, based on my own personal opinion and your reviews, that Bitch-off (thank you, HuntersAngelJacky, for that name) will be tortured, by the way of two certain high-flyers, their tag-along announcer, and now, a certain star tag-team. He'll get this chapter, and then one more after this. He deserves it. After that, I'll get rid of him. He's just not important enough to keep. ;) **

**This chapter took me a little while, I know. I do hope it was worth the wait. Four more little five-year-olds join the mix here. Enjoy. :D**

**Chapter nine: Lost and Found**

The Miz, like Kane, had a bit of a problem. His problem, however, was not a quintet of patronizing, jumping green fairies. There was no one attempting to steal his rubber duck. Rather, there was someone attempting to steal his sanity.

"Worms," he whispered, half sobbing, and shivered. Worms. His worst fear. Slimy, crawling monsters. Far worse than fairies, as far as the Miz was concerned.

"I'm…_gonna get'cha!" _a gleeful voice cried above him, and he shrieked. He had been crouching behind the couch in Jonathan Coachman's office, hands over his head, his knees drawn to his small chest. Now he looked up, and screamed again when he saw a dark, behemoth shape looming over him. Low, malign laughter descended from it. The shape reached down, and the Miz realized with a growing horror it was holding a small rubber worm. Its nightmare goggle eyes rolled.

The Miz shrieked with all the power in his minute lungs, and scrambled to his feet, ducking away from the worm. He ran around the sofa, arms held protectively over his head, only to have his legs swept out from under him. He collapsed. He sat up, groaning, rubbing his aching head, and looked around. His eyes widened in absolute terror when he saw the floor was littered with unspeakable colored worms.

He hitched in a breath, about to scream again. Before he could, however, he was hit by numerous small things, falling upon him in what seemed to be an endless shower. He slowly turned his gaze upward, to find he was being showered upon by the squishy worms.

"I'm the Boogeyman…and _I'm gonna get'cha_!" the gleeful voice cried again.

The Miz shrieked, and fainted.

…

Shawn stopped suddenly, his head cocked in a listening gesture, one arm held out to halt the others. They had been wandering the halls for a while, now joined by Kane, in a tireless search for Vince's cocks. They currently stood in a long hallway—there were three doors at their right. Shawn had thought he heard a scream come from inside one of these, and it was this which had caused him to halt.

"What is it?" Cena questioned.

"Did you hear that?" Shawn whispered, and looked at the doors, his eyes widening slightly.

"Someone screamed," Randy said, sounding a little frightened. He unthinkingly moved closer to Undertaker.

"Which room, though?" Triple H asked in undertone. He crept toward the doors, peering at each closely.

"Dere," Rey said. He hobbled to the middle door, reaching for the knob. He was too small, and could not reach it. He jumped, snatching at it. He missed, and fell back to the ground. Undeterred, he tried again, and once more missed. He continued this futile endeavor, his expression of excitement never changing, until Triple H stepped up and opened the door. The others huddled up behind him, and the eight peered in with curiosity and dim trepidation.

Lita was the first to scream.

The entire floor was littered with tiny, red and green worms. There was an unconscious boy lying motionless by the couch across the room, covered in worms. Another boy sat on the arm of the soft, a large worm with strange eyes in hand, wearing large blue goggles, peering down at the unconscious boy and grinning. There was a large, transparent bucket in his lap, half-filled with the strange colorful worms.

Lita ducked behind Edge, and Randy and Undertaker stepped in front of them, Undertaker a little before Randy. Kane stood in front of them, ready to fight. Shawn grabbed Rey's shoulder, holding him back, while Cena and Triple H moved to shield them, both holding an arm out to indicate to Shawn to remain there.

Boogeyman regarded at them, and pushed his goggles up, still grinning. He jumped off the couch, brandishing his worm, twisting and shaking his body in strange, jerky movements. He advanced on them, and dipped his hand into the bucket on the arm of the couch. He took out a handful of the colored worms, and suddenly, grotesquely, shoved them into his mouth, still grinning. Some of the worms fell from his lips, half-eaten, and a trickle of drool dribbled onto the floor. Lita and Shawn shrieked.

Abruptly, unexpectedly, the Miz leaped up, looking determined and ready to retaliate. He snatched the small worm in the Boogeyman's hand. He slammed it onto the ground, and proceeded to stomp on the poor, innocent, rubber thing before Boogeyman could even register his worm had been taken. One of the thing's strange goggle eyes popped out.

Boogeyman cried out in dismay, and fell to his knees as the Miz retreated, reaching for his rubber worm. "No!" he cried tearfully. "_Jerry_!" He burst into tears. "Not my Jerry! _WHY?_"

Shawn gasped and immediately ran to his side, laying a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, it's OK," he soothed. "Jerry will be OK." He glared at the Miz. "How dare you?"

The Miz grinned, and began pacing in a very peculiar manner, taking long, leaping strides, flinging his arms back and forth, thrusting his upper body forward and back, almost as though he were pecking at something.

Edge saw this and his eyes widened, filling with tears. "He…he…he's a-a-a ch-ch-ch-_chicken_!" he cried, totally horrified. Randy saw he was going to weep again, and went to his side at once, turning him away from the sight.

"Don't look," he instructed mildly, patting Edge's back. Lita put an arm around him also, looking concerned.

The Miz suddenly fell forward, and lay on the floor, twitching. Triple H, Cena, Shawn, Undertaker, and Kane all blinked down at him. "I think he's a dying chicken," Triple H said, mystified.

"Dwying slwowy," Rey agreed, standing in between Cena and H, and giggled.

"In a lot of pain," Cena added, as bewildered as Triple H.

Kane stepped forward, hesitant but curious. He leaned in slightly, head cocked, his masked face turned on the twitching Miz. "I wonder what would happen if I poke him," he mused aloud, and proceeded to do just that.

"Uh, maybe you shouldn't—" 'Taker began, but suddenly the Miz leapt up. Kane jerked back, startled.

"Hoo-_rah_!" The Miz shouted in Kane's face, and began his strange chicken-like dance once more.

"What did you call me?" Kane demanded angrily, raising a fist, fully intent on pounding this little creep to the floor. Undertaker grabbed his wrist, however, holding him back.

"Don't touch him," he warned gravely. "I think he might be one of those evil chickens Edge was talking about earlier."

"Evwil chwicken twat cwame fwom Mwars," Rey said solemnly, and giggled, huge eyes sparkling.

"Did you hear what he just called me?" Kane said hotly, glaring at Undertaker behind the mask.

"He didn't _call _you anything. I don't know _what_ he said." Undertaker regarded the Miz, his expression disgusted and bewildered.

"Was he trying to say Hooray?" Shawn wondered, standing up, looking curiously at the dancing Miz. "You know like, _Hooray_!" He cried out this last, throwing his hands in the air briefly in demonstration.

"Maybe," Triple H mused, arms crossed, his head cocked slightly. "Dude's kinda weird."

"That's comin' from the dude with the giant nose," Cena remarked, considering the Miz with slight curiosity. Triple H glared venomously at him.

"Yeah, well, your mom," he shot back. Cena turned to glare at him, snarling.

"Hoo-_rah_!" The Miz shouted, still prancing around.

"I never heard chickens make a noise like _that,_" Shawn said, his nose wrinkling slightly.

"Maybe he's got a cold," Randy suggested, but Edge shook his head, sniffling.

"Ch-chickens don't g-_get_ colds; they come from M-_Mars_." Randy went back to him and patted his shoulder, and Lita hugged him briefly.

"I think he's choking," Undertaker said. His expression was that of bewildered disgust and amusement.

"I think he's hyperactivating," Kane said, stepping closer to his brother, head cocked.

"Hyper-_what_-ivating?" Undertaker questioned, turning to him.

"Hyperactivating. It's when you can't _breathe_," Kane explained, holding his hands to his throat to demonstrate.

"Chwicken wyperwactivwating," Rey agreed from beside H, and nodded, giggling. "Chwicken cwan't _bweathe_."

"Is that why he's making those weird noises?" Triple H asked, turning away from Cena at last.

"Hoo-_rah_!" The Miz cried, as though in confirmation.

"Woo-_wah_!" Rey echoed. He began to circle Triple H and Cena, mimicking the Miz's dance.

"Maybe we should give him…you know, that 'C' thing," Shawn suggested, slightly concerned now.

"Nuh-_uh_!" Undertaker cried, revolted. "I'm not gonna _kiss _him!"

"Lita could do it," Cena volunteered, pointing to Lita.

"No _way_!" Lita exclaimed immediately, her face twisting in disgust. "I'm not gonna kiss a _chicken._ Besides, I think he's compulsing, not _hyperactivating_."

"Com-_what_?" Cena questioned, regarding her.

"Compulsing. It's when people shake a lot. I think he's sick," Lita said solemnly, nodding as though to confirm this.

Shawn considered this, and then something occurred to him so abruptly and powerfully he jumped. Cena and H glanced at him inquiringly and with some concern. "Hey, if he's an evil chicken that came from Mars, does that mean he's the one who stole Big Oily Guy's brain?"

For a moment there was silence, in which the seven regarded the dancing Miz thoughtfully. Then Triple H spoke up slowly, uncertainly, "Maybe that's why he's doing that. Maybe he's choking on Big Oily Guy's brain."

"Maybe we can get him to spit it out, if we squeeze him really hard," Randy suggested.

"Me and Kane will do it," Undertaker offered, and the two brothers advanced on the Miz, ready to tackle him.

"I just hope he hasn't pooped it out already," Shawn said, not without a trace of worry. Triple H, Randy, and Lita made a face.

Cena watched as Undertaker and Kane moved closer to the Miz—who seemed to notice none of them at all—his expression pensive. "Wait!" he cried suddenly, just before the two pounced. All six turned to look at him, inquiring.

Cena stepped closer, his eyes suddenly alight with excitement. "He's a chicken…and he's a boy, right?"

"Right…" Shawn said slowly, and his eyes suddenly lit up. "And that would mean—"

"He's a cock!" Triple H cried excitedly, and began jumping up and down, clapping and cheering. "We found the cock!"

"We found the cock!" Shawn cried elatedly, and also began to jump up and down, applauding. "We found Mr. McMahon's cock!"

"Fwind cwock!" Rey cried, and he too bounced in excitement, huge eyes sparkling.

"Yeah!" Undertaker cheered, and turned to Randy, slamming his hat on Orton's head. Randy, beaming, turned to Edge, and passed the hat to him. Edge grinned at them, and all three exchanged high fives.

"We better get him to Mr. McMahon!" Randy said, and he and Undertaker advanced on the Miz, grabbing him and lifting him up.

"Hoo-rah?" The Miz no longer sounded quite so enthusiastic.

…

"Johnny, I really don't think—"

"Shut _up_, Joey!" Johnny Nitro hissed at Joey Mercury, standing on the arm of the couch. He was facing the rest of it, preparing to flip backwards off the arm, to prove once and for all he could indeed do it.

What he did not realize, of course, was that a small table was situated right next to the sofa, and if he jumped, he would crash right into it.

"But John—"

"Shut up! Melina doesn't think I can do this, so I'm gonna prove to both of you I _can_!" Nitro snapped, and straightened, preparing to commence with the leap.

"Johnny, maybe you should—"

"I said, silence!"

"But John, behind you—"

Nitro scowled at him, and then, not bothering to look around, back-flipped off the couch. As was expected, he crash-landed right into the table, and Mercury winced as it broke in half, and boy and table collapsed in an untidy heap.

Mercury hesitantly advanced forward, leaning over. "Uh…Nitro?"

Nitro glared at him from atop the shattered table. "Why didn't you _tell _me there was a table there?" he breathed, furious and in pain.

Mercury shook his head. "I tried to, man, but you just wouldn't listen. Too busy trying to impress Melina, I suppose. Even though she's not even _here_," he pointed out, slightly amused now, and crossed his arms.

Nitro glared at him. He sat up with a groan, his hand on his back.

The door opened suddenly, and in propelled another boy, about their age, releasing a cheer as he went. He seemed to fly, moving so fast he was little more than a blur, and jumped at Nitro with arms spread, as if to embrace him. He moved too quick, however, and leapt right over Nitro, slamming head-first into the wall instead. He fell to the ground, and lay there, unmoving. Nitro and Mercury both blinked.

"Jeff!" a voice cried from the doorway. Mercury and Nitro turned, to see another boy run in, his black ponytail bouncing. He ran to the first boy's side, and the boy immediately jumped up, bouncing excitedly. Nitro was the first to recognize them.

"Matt Hardy," he said, his tone thick with hate as he addressed the second boy.

The boy glared back, deep abhorrence in his eyes. "Nitro," he said flatly.

"Jeff Hardy," Mercury said, glaring at the bouncing boy with the same antipathy.

Jeff Hardy regarded both of them for a moment, and then jumped, tackling them both to the ground. "HihihiNitroMercurylongtimenoseewhere'sMelinahihihimybrotherlookslikeafish!" he exclaimed, holding them both in his bone crushing grip, grinning widely.

"Get this creep off me!" Nitro shrieked, attempting without success to push Jeff away.

"And me!" Mercury shouted.

Matt Hardy, looking furious, walked up to them. He delivered a hard kick to his brother's shin, successfully throwing Jeff off the two. "Stop saying I look like a fish!" he snapped. "I do _not_!"

"Actually," Mercury said thoughtfully, standing up, "you kinda do."

Matt rounded on him. He only stood there a moment, fists clenched and shaking, eyes burning with absolute rage. Then he lashed out at Mercury, kicking the other boy hard in the stomach. Mercury grunted, leaning forward, hands instinctively going to his stomach. Matt advanced on him, wrapping his arm around Mercury's neck, stuffing the other boy's head under his arm. He twisted his body, driving his other arm down on Mercury and slamming the other boy to the ground. Mercury bounced, then lay there on his back, still.

"ThefishTwistofFate!" Jeff cried excitedly, pumping a fist into the air.

"You just got fish twisted," Matt spat, kicking Mercury again in the shoulder. It took a second for him to realize what he had said, but when he did, he rounded on his brother with narrowed eyes. "Hey, wait a minute—"

Meanwhile, Eric Bischoff and Michael Cole stood in the doorway, watching his entire exchange. Bischoff's mouth was agape, his eyes still wide, the remaining bewilderment only just begun to dissipate. He still had no idea what was going on—how the hell had these wrestlers turned into five-year-old children? There was no rational explanation Bischoff could find. And the remaining pain in his leg where Hardy had kicked him was not exactly helping matters.

Mercury and Nitro were five-year-olds as well, it appeared. How many others were there? Did Vince know about all this? Bischoff felt he needed to find the Chairman of the WWE.

"He gets pretty vicious if you say he looks like a fish," Michael Cole said beside him, and Eric blinked down at him. Cole was looking at Matt with a thoughtful expression, his arms crossed.

"He _does_ look like a fish," Bischoff replied. It was meant to come out only as a mutter—none of them were supposed to actually hear it, but unfortunately for Eric, Matt Hardy had very sharp ears when it came to someone comparing him to the aquatic, gilled creatures.

The boy turned and stomped over to him, fists clenched. He scowled up at Bischoff, and Eric looked back, bewildered. Then suddenly, Hardy punched Bischoff in the shin—his hurt shin. Eric cried out in surprise and pain, and Matt continued delivering hard punches to Eric's shin with his small fists, until Eric was ready to collapse. He managed to stay up, clutching his leg—and then Hardy slammed his fist right into Eric's groin.

Eric Bischoff, former GM of Raw, stood there with hands on his groin now, his face was twisted in pain, bent over slightly. Then he finally toppled over, and lay on the floor, clutching his groin and groaning.

"Hmph," Hardy scoffed, and turned, crossing his arms. "I do _not _look like any fish!" he snapped to no one—and everyone—in particular, stomping once for emphasis.

Meanwhile, Johnny Nitro was circling Jeff Hardy, his eyes locked on the bouncing boy. He circled him like a lion facing a rival animal, prepared to strike. He stopped, facing Jeff. Jeff suddenly bounded forward, tackling Nitro. The two rolled across the floor, Nitro punching, Jeff hugging, and Nitro's back slammed into the wall underneath the window on the other side of the room. Nitro instinctively reached up, grabbing the curtains, consequently pulling them down, along with the bar which supported them. The bar landed on the arm of the couch, and swung sideways, sweeping an empty vase off the small table in front of the couch. The vase fell to the floor and shattered. The curtains themselves floated noiseless down, and draped over Mercury, who had risen unsteadily to his feet, unsure where he was. Disoriented and cast into complete darkness, Mercury stumbled around the room covered in the curtains, like the world's smallest sheet-ghost. He stepped unwarily on the sharp remains of the vase, and cried out, stumbling back. He collided with a chair on the other side of the room, and involuntarily back-flipped into it, consequently tipping it over, right on top of him.

All of this happened in 6.4 seconds, amazingly enough.

Eric Bischoff gaped at this destruction from his spot on the floor, eyes wide. "Holy—" Vince was going to have his ass for this.

Matt Hardy looked around, an eyebrow raised, and shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. "Mass destruction, everywhere we go," he muttered. He walked up to his brother, who was jumping up and down again, looking at the dazed Nitro with a big grin splashed across his face.

"You OK?" Matt asked, and Jeff nodded with all the speed of a steroid-pumped cheetah.

"YeahyeahyeahdoyouseewhatIdidyayyayyay!" he cried, pumping his fist into the air.

"Yes, I see what you did. Now let's go." Matt grabbed his brother's hair and began dragging him out of the room, walking past Bischoff without so much as a glance at the former GM of Raw.

"Byebyebye!" Jeff called, waving so fast Eric feared his hand would fly off.

Michael Cole motioned for Eric to follow, and went after them. Bischoff hesitated, and followed, one hand still on his groin, limping slightly.

Nitro jumped to his feet, his upper lip curled in a snarl. He ran after them at once, grabbing the doorknob as he went.

"Wait!" Mercury called, tearing off the curtains with some difficulty as he crawled out from under the chair. He ran after Nitro, but Nitro shut the door before he could slip out, and Mercury slammed right into it. He stood, teetering for a moment, then fell into a sitting position. He saw stars.

Nitro opened the door, looking annoyed. He grabbed Mercury's arm and yanked him to his feet. "Move it, you idiot," he snapped, and the two took off, pursuing the Hardys, Cole, and a still confounded Bischoff.

**Well, next chapter is going to be all ECW. Guaranteed Rob, Kurt (not ECW anymore, but hey), Sabu, and maybe Khali…who else would you like to see? I don't know many ECW people, but I do know some. I'm struggling with ideas right now, so a little help from you wonderful readers (and reviewers) wouldn't hurt. ;) Also…would you like to see Paul Heyman tortured by our little ECW friends? **_**I **_**certainly want to torture him…what about you?**


	10. Mr Fish

**O.O Holy shit. Damn. This is unbelievable. I never thought it could actually happen to me. I have over 200 reviews! O.O Am I dreaming? –pinches self- OW! Nope, guess not. :D **

**Thank you all, and I do apologize for making you wait. These chapters are getting harder to write…but I finally got this one done—this is all ECW. There are a couple missing, I know…but they will appear in future ECW chapters, don't worry. So any last-minute requests are welcome. :D **

**Enjoy!**

**Chapter ten: Mr. Fish**

While Vincent McMahon, his son Shane, their Executive Assistant Jonathan Coachman, and former General Manager of Raw Eric Bischoff were getting acquainted with the wrestlers who had somehow been turned into five-year-olds, Paul Heyman, General Manager of ECW, was sound asleep in his office. He lay stretched out on the couch, an arm over his head, legs sprawled. He was snoring loudly, mouth open. His sleep was deep, dreamless, and undisturbed.

He was unaware, however, that four five-year-old wrestlers were staring down at him. Bobby Lashley, looking nervous and bewildered, stood by his head. Rob Van Dam and Sabu sat on either end of the couch's back, and Kurt Angle sat in front, drooling and staring, open-mouthed and wide-eyed.

Bobby Lashley blinked down at the sleeping GM of ECW, slightly mystified. "Do you have any idea what we're looking at, guys?"

"I think it's some kind of big dog," Rob Van Dam said, his head cocked, evidently baffled. He spun on top of the couch, and leaned backwards, his feet on the wall. He hung there, peering down at Heyman, his hair lightly brushing the older man's cheek. The GM stirred slightly, and continued to snore. "Some kind of big dog with a breathing problem," he added, glancing into Heyman's mouth, and made a face.

"Nu-huh," Bobby said, shaking his head, his nose wrinkled slightly. "It's too ugly to be a doggie."

Sabu nodded vigorously. "Well, what do _you_ think it is?" Rob challenged. Sabu laid his hands on his stomach, and spread them, making circling motions with his hands around his body, and pointed to the TV across the room.

"One of those big fat dudes we see on TV?" Rob said uncertainly, his brow furrowing. "You mean like Mr. Incredible?" Sabu nodded in confirmation, and Rob's eyes widened. "_Holy—!" _He immediately leapt off the couch, cowering behind it, hands over his head.

"No way," Bobby said again. "This thing ain't human."

Kurt, meanwhile, was staring at Paul Heyman's belt buckle eyes alight. "Shiny…"

Sabu withdrew his arms so his hands were against his chest, and made clawing motions with them, opening his mouth as though to roar. RVD looked uncertainly over the arm of the couch, and surmounted it again, thoughtful now. "Baby dinosaur? Maybe…"

"That ain't no dino, you stupid pansies," a voice spoke knowingly behind them. They turned, and saw Sandman there, a Red Bull in his hand, sitting in a pile of empty cans. "That there's a _fish_, man. A great big _fish_." He took a swig of his drink, and let out a great, loud belch.

"Fish? A big fishy?" Bobby pondered this a moment, gazing contemplatively at Heyman, and suddenly gasped. "Guys! He's out of water! He can't _breathe_!"

"So _that's _why he's making those weird noises!" Rob cried, jumping up. "We better get him water before he _dies_!"

Sabu's hands rose to his mouth, his eyes wide with excitement. He jumped up, pointing to the table on the other side of the room. On top was a large bottle, full almost to the brim with water.

Bobby Lashley and Rob Van Dam immediately leapt into action, running to the table. Rob jumped, snatching the rim, and hoisted himself up with assistance from Lashley. He snatched the bottle with both hands, and leaped down. The two boys ran back to the couch. Bobby Lashley quickly unscrewed the cap, and threw it aside. Sabu stood beside them, and all three held the water bottle above Heyman's head, and proceeded to pour the entire thing on him, aiming for his open mouth.

Heyman let out a gurgling sort of cry, and jolted awake, instinctively drawing away from the water being poured on him. Consequently, he tumbled off the couch. He sat on the floor, coughing and soaked, bewildered and unsure of what had just happened. "What the _hell_—"

"Fishy alive!" Bobby cried elatedly. All three cheered. Kurt cheered, as well, because now Heyman's whole _belt _was shiny.

Heyman saw them, blinked, and stopped wiping the water off himself. "The _hell_?" What were _children_ doing here? And why did they look so _familiar_? And why the _hell _was he so_ wet_? He saw the bottle in the bald one's hands, and suddenly he knew the answer to the latter question. "What do you think you're _doing_?" he bellowed, standing up.

All except one of the children shrank back, apparently frightened. The one who did not, a boy donned in glittering gold pants, glared back at him and shook his head defiantly.

"Yeah!" another spoke up bravely, stepping up beside the other. "You shouldn't yell at us, Mr. Fish! We saved you!"

_Mr. Fish? Saved? The _hell? Heyman blinked, uncomprehending. He considered the boys closely, then the other two, and the one drooling beside the couch. He recognized this boy first. "Kurt Angle?" he said, blinking, perplexed. "Is that you?"

"You know Kurt?" the one with the ponytail inquired, and Heyman looked at him. His mouth fell open.

"_Rob Van Dam_?" He looked at the one next to RVD, who was regarding him questioningly now. "_Sabu?" _Feeling faint, he turned to the last boy, but hesitated.

The boy grinned nervously. "Bobby Lashley."

"Bobby Lashley," Heyman echoed faintly, and sank into the couch. "RVD, Angle, Sabu, and Lashley." He regarded each of them, attempting without success to comprehend what was going on here.

"How do you know all of us?" RVD questioned, jumping onto the couch. He gasped suddenly. "Are you some kinda _mind-reading _fish?"

"Like a _psycho_?" Bobby said, his eyes wide with fascination, seating himself before Paul Heyman.

"He's psychotic," RVD said, mystified.

"_Ugly _psychotic fish," Sandman added, and belched loudly and crudely. He drank long and hard from his can of Red Bull, and fell back into the pile, belching once more in the midst of his brief descent.

Paul regarded him, and his mouth fell agape again. "Sandman?" he said weakly.

"That's my name, don't wear it out," Sandman responded, his words slurring slightly. He sat up, throwing the empty can carelessly aside. "Yo, Angle, get me some drinks, will ya?"

Kurt shifted his gaze from Heyman's belt to Sandman. "Nu-huh, man. Get it yourself."

"They're shiny…" Sandman tempted, motioning to the small refrigerator situated by the table.

Kurt perked up immediately. "Shiny?" He automatically scrambled to his feet, and hurried past Sandman to the fridge, eyes alight with anticipation. He opened the door and looked in, standing there a moment, a small stream of drool dribbling down his chin.

"Hey!" Sandman barked, "Move it, Drool-boy!" Kurt acquiesced at once, snatching an armful of the cans. He brought them back to Sandman, gazing down at them wonderingly.

He laid the Red Bull's at Sandman's feet, and sat there, drooling and staring. Sandman took one, wiping away the saliva with a grimace of disgust, and consumed a large amount of it, falling back to the ground. When he hit the floor, he released another obtrusive belch.

Ensuing the crude sound, a loud screech sounded outside, slightly muffled. Paul Heyman and the five children (aside from Kurt, who only kept drooling), turned to the door, all eyes widening.

"What the hell was that?" Heyman questioned unsteadily, still in shock over all this.

"That sounded kinda like someone we know, didn't it?" Rob whispered, his eyes on the door.

Sabu nodded slowly, and Bobby whispered, "Yeah."

"Let's go see!" RVD ran to the door, grabbing the knob. Sabu immediately followed, along with Sandman, his Red Bull's in hand, and Kurt.

"B-But—" Bobby began, but Sabu and Sandman snatched both his wrists and dragged him along. Heyman watched as they walked slowly and cautiously out the door, blinking, and then pursued.

…

Five-year-old Kevin Thorn and Ariel peacefully slumbered in two cardboard boxes, cut in the shape of miniature coffins, side by side. They lay with their arms crossed, pretending they were two dormant vampires, as they always did.

Kevin opened his eyes, disturbed by something as of yet undetermined, and looked up. It took him a moment to realize what he was staring at.

A pair of massive, sparkling eyes peered down at him from over the side of the box. Their owner had a blue pacifier in their mouth, and, as Kevin watched, a small hand appeared beside the eyes and waved down at him.

Kevin stared blankly, uncomprehending, still half-asleep. Then his eyes abruptly widened, and he shrieked, instinctively jerking away from those huge eyes. Consequently, he tipped his box over onto Ariel's, tipping hers as well. Her surprised cry was muffled by the boxes now stacked on her.

Kevin pushed off the box on top of him and leapt to his feet, irate, glaring at the small boy standing where his 'coffin' had been. There was a cloth wrapped around the boy's head, and he clutched an Elmo, which seemed very large compared to him. "_Daivari! _How many times have I told you not to _do_ that?!"

Daivari stared at him fearfully, huge eyes wide. He fell into a sitting position and began to wail, his pacifier falling to the floor.

Khali, who stood on the other side of the room, still slightly dazed from Randy Orton's RKO, heard Daivari cry. The sound stimulated him out of his stupor at once, and he immediately went to the boy's side, glaring at Kevin. He threw up his arms and roared, and Kevin scowled back, crossing his arms and glaring at the massive five-year-old.

"What's going on in here?" a new voice inquired from behind. Kevin and Khali turned to see RVD, Sabu, Kurt Angle, Sandman, Bobby Lashley, and a bewildered Paul Heyman standing in the doorway.

"That's what _I'd _like to know," Ariel said curtly, pushing the bent boxes off herself and glaring at Kevin. He winced and gave her a sheepish smile.

Bobby regarded them, his eyes widening. "Th-They have f-fangs!" he observed fearfully, and dove behind Rob, trembling. "V-V-Va-Va-Vampires!"

"Talk about issues, man," Sandman said, drank a little from his can of Red Bull, and let loose another obscene sound from his uncouth mouth.

Kevin made a face at him, baring his fangs for all to see. Rob Van Dam and Sabu wrinkled their noses in disgust.

Bobby Lashley peeked out uncertainly from behind Rob, still shaking. He regarded Khali uneasily, and then looked at Daivari. It took a moment for him to notice the furry crimson thing the small boy was holding, but when he did, he released a frightened squeak and put his hands over his head.

"What now?" Rob questioned, an eyebrow raised.

Bobby pointed, not looking up. "He's got a-a-a-a E-E-El-Elmo!" he whimpered. "Those things e-eat _babies_!"

Rob blinked, and considered the red thing briefly. At first he had no idea what Bobby was rambling on about, but then he glanced into those huge, happy eyes, and suddenly he knew. "Oh _cripes_!" he cried, startled and horrified. "We gotta get that thing away from him!"

He and Sabu automatically ran at an unsuspecting Daivari, and snatched the Elmo away. Daivari blinked, regarding him a moment, and abruptly began to wail once more.

Khali roared in anger and kneeled beside the much smaller boy, grabbing the fallen pacifier and glaring threateningly at Rob, who held the Elmo at arm's length. He gently put the pacifier back in Daivari's mouth, and his wailing ceased. He sniffled, tears still flowing down his face.

Khali looked at Rob, and was about to roar again, when he was silenced by sudden, frantic giggling that ascended from the Elmo, which simultaneously began to shake violently. Rob released a startled cry and threw the thing away, and it slid half-way across the room, still vibrating with dark jovialness.

Rob, Sabu, Khali, Daivari, Paul Heyman, Lashley, Kevin, and Ariel stood watching it a moment, all eyes wide. Then Rob jumped a little and shouted, "Take cover! It's alive! It's _alive!_" He, Bobby Lashley, Sabu, Kevin, and Ariel scattered immediately. Sabu and Rob ducked behind the couch. Bobby dived underneath the table, hands over his head. Kevin and Ariel concealed themselves behind a nearby chair.

Heyman only stood there, blinking, watching as Daivari began to crawl toward his toy, reaching out and smiling at it.

"C'mon!" Rob hissed at him, and Heyman robotically obliged. Rob motioned to Daivari. "Get him." Paul Heyman hesitated, then lifted Daivari, making a face and holding the small boy as far away from his body as he could. Daivari cocked head and waved companionably. Heyman scowled and brought the boy back to the couch, followed closely by Khali.

They all watched the vibrating Elmo for what seemed like hours to the first five five-year-olds, the eyes of the children wide and frightened. They did not dare move for fear this horrid, giggling thing might detect their movements.

"Pansies," Sandman remarked. He took a swig of Red Bull, belched contently, and slammed both hands over the can, attempting to crush it. When it merely bent inward a little, he applied more pressure, to no avail. He stood there a moment, wrestling with the can, losing horribly. Finally, frustrated, he slammed it into his skull. When he brought it back down, slightly dazed but not much affected, he saw the can had been crushed. He grunted, satisfied, and threw it aside. He then bravely walked up to the still vibrating Elmo, and leaned over to reach for it.

He was prevented from doing so, however, by a long, blue, plastic sword which was held before him, blocking his way. He looked up, blinking, as did the others hiding in the room. Three boys, all dressed in tinfoil armor, complete with cardboard helmets and plastic swords and daggers, stood there. Their heads were held up proud, courageous expressions on their faces.

"Not another step." The biggest one, who held out the sword to prevent Sandman from touching the Elmo (which continued its nightmare giggles), spoke in a deep, imperial voice. "This is a dangerous creature, the likes of which you have never seen. It is evil, I repeat: _evil_. It must be handled with care and—"

He was interrupted by the shortest one, who suddenly released an ear-splitting screech—a battle cry, no doubt—and charged at the Elmo, pounding it with his sword and screaming. One of the eyes popped out, and one of its arms was torn off. The thing fell silent and still.

"—caution," the largest one finished, one eyebrow twitching. "_Striker_!"

The boy stood, kicking the now torn and beat-up toy once more for good measure. "Well, that takes care of _that_." The other two boys smacked their brows and sighed with the air of those who had dealt with this more than once before.

"Uh…who are you?" Rob asked uncertainly, stepping out from where he hid behind the couch. He was followed closely by Sabu, and Paul Heyman emerged, placing Daivari on the sofa with a grimace. Daivari smiled and waved at him, and he made a face. Kevin and Ariel also revealed themselves, and Bobby peeked out from underneath the table.

The three boys looked around, and one with black hair and two plastic daggers immediately jumped forward. He fell onto one knee, holding his daggers before himself in the shape of an X. "CM Punk," he announced in the deepest, most imposing voice he could muster. For his diminutive size, he managed this surprisingly well.

The largest one followed suit instantly, spinning once and twirling his two swords in his hands. He stepped up beside Punk, brandishing his sword. "Tommy Dreamer."

"And—" The short one leapt into position at Punk's other side, attempting to twirl his sword in a circular motion, subsequently smacking himself in the chin. He fell, releasing a startled grunt. One of the eyes of the two others twitched in unison. The short one regained his feet at once, holding up his sword. "Matt Striker!" he shouted, and then put a hand on his chin, a pained expression crossing his face.

"We are—" Tommy Dreamer began, sidestepping in front of CM Punk as he swept his two swords to the side.

"—the N…G…_A_!" CM Punk slipped up from behind him and held his daggers before Tommy's swords.

Striker instantly jumped in front of him, and twirled as he declared, "No Girls Allow-ow-ow-ow—OW!" His intone turned into a shout as he tripped over his own feet and landed face-first on the floor. He jumped up immediately, undaunted, and finished loudly, "—ed! _Allowed_!"

Dreamer smacked his brow, and Punk's eye twitched again.

"More like the O_S_A. 'Only Stupidity Allowed'," Sandman remarked, opening another Red Bull. He downed half of it in one gulp, smacked the can into his forehead, thus crushing it, and emitted the customary ensuing belch.

"Matt Striker, CM Punk, and Tommy Dreamer," Heyman echoed faintly.

CM Punk looked at him, and raised an eyebrow. "Who's the geezer?" he questioned, jerking a thumb in Heyman's direction. The GM of ECW's eye twitched.

"He's a fish!" RVD piped, obviously excited. "And not just any fish. He's a _psychotic _fish."

"Psychotic fish? Whoa!" Tommy Dreamer said in disbelief, unconsciously swiping his arm to the side, and consequently smacked Striker in the nose with his sword. Striker cried out in pain and surprise and fell to the floor.

"Yeah," Rob said, nodding, and Sabu did as well. He placed his hands over his throat and made silent coughs, as though he were choking and struggling for breath. He then collapsed, still pretending he was hyperventilating, and made a throwing motion with his hands. He jumped up, raising his hands into the air as though in victory, grinning.

"Yep!" Rob agreed, grinning as well. "He was choking, but we splashed water on him and brought him back to life!"

"Whoa…" Dreamer said, looking mystified.

"Maybe you should have left that ugly thing to choke," CM Punk remarked nastily.

"Why you—" Heyman snarled, raising his hands as though to choke Punk, who only wrinkled his nose at him. Then he took a deep breath, and looked around at all of them, feeling faint again. "How old are all of you?"

"Five!" all the children proudly proclaimed at once, and Daivari raised a hand to indicate the number five. The cry was ensued by another of Sandman's enthusiastic burps.

"Five," Heyman echoed mechanically, and fell back onto the couch, wondering if he was going to faint or not.

Rob gasped, and grabbed the water bottle from where Lashley had placed it on the floor. "Oh no! Don't die, Mr. Fish! We'll save you!"

"No!" Heyman cried, rising to his feet only a moment before the water was splashed onto him. He backed up, eyes wide. "Mr. Fish does not need water. Mr. Fish is OK…just stay away from me." He grabbed Daivari and held him in front of his face as a shield.

Daivari giggled and waved. It took a moment for Heyman to feel the hot, sticky substance coursing down his arm.

He blinked, and averted his gaze downward. At first he merely stood, looking blankly at the small stream of yellow liquid flowing from in between Daivari's legs. Then his eyes widened, and he released a strangled cry and threw the small boy back onto the couch, grabbing a pillow and frantically wiping the hot substance off. "He _peed_ on me!" he shrieked, nearly incoherent now.

Rob sniffed the air, and made a face when a foul odor met his nose. "I think he pooped, too. Looks like someone's gotta change him…" He, and the other eight five-year-olds looked expectantly at Heyman. CM Punk snickered not-too-subtle in delight.

Paul Heyman, General Manager of ECW, saw the way they were regarding him, and his eyes widened even further. "Huh? What are you all looking at me like that for? You can't possibly expect _me_, too—"

"You may be a fishy, but you're the only growed-up here," Bobby pointed out nervously.

CM Punk cackled. "Yeah, you ugly old geezer."

By now, Heyman's face was all eyes. "B-b-but—"

"That's what you get for being an ugly geezer, pansy fish," Sandman said gruffly. He downed the rest of his drink in one gulp, smashed the can into his forehead, crushing it, and released yet another long, ear-splitting belch.

Paul Heyman promptly fainted.

**-snicker- First Matt Hardy is accused of looking like a fish, and now they think Paul Heyman really **_**is **_**a fish. LOL. No, I don't think he looks like a fish, but I thought it would be cute and amusing if they were to think Paul Heyman was some sort of big, ugly fish. And a **_**psychotic**_** fish, no less. ;)**

**So, how was it? Funny, I hope. Remember to tell me what you thought. :D**


	11. Discovery

**Anyone else feel a gaping hole in their heart every time they watch Raw because Triple H isn't there? I certainly am. T.T I never thought I'd miss the dude with big nose and the huge muscles so much, not to mention DX. Shawn Michaels is doing great on his own, but I miss him with Triple H. Raw just isn't the same without H. **

**And so, as a tribute to Degeneration-X, this chapter, which turned out rather long, will contain plenty of cock-madness and McMahon torture. :D **

**I know, I know, it took me so long to get this up…I've just been so caught up in my other story. But since those commercials with the WWE superstars as kids started showing, I just had to start writing this again. :D They're all so cute! Especially little Booker. **_**Awww…**_

**LOL. Oh yes. Two people suggested I should do a little sleepover with our five-year-old friends…I like the idea. What about the rest of you? I think it'd be fun, right after I get through these few chapters. :D**

**Tell me later. Right now, have fun! **

**Chapter eleven: Discovery**

"We found the cock!"

"Hoo-rah!"

"We found the cock!"

"Hoo-rah!"

"We found the cock!"

"Hoo-_RAH_!"

The cheerful chant echoed through the halls as ten five-year-old WWE superstars marched to Vince McMahon's office, Shawn Michaels, Triple H, and John Cena in the lead. H and Cena ferried the Miz above their heads while Shawn, leading the chant, marched in front of them. Randy Orton and Undertaker walked behind them, Edge trailing close to Randy, looking uneasily at the Miz. Lita walked with him, and Rey Mysterio hobbled alongside her, doing a series of little dances as he went, chanting loudly: "Fwound Cwock!" Kane took up the rear, silent and brooding, his arms crossed.

"Big Oily Guy is going to be so _happy _with us!" Shawn said excitedly, turning to beam at his companions.

"Hoo-RAH!" Miz cried, pumping his fist into the air in triumph.

"We're going to make him all better!" Randy agreed, clapping. Undertaker grinned at him and placed his hat on his head, and they both exchanged high-fives. Randy turned to Edge, who raised a hand, still eyeing Miz uncertainly. They slapped high-fives, and Undertaker's eyes narrowed slightly, though he also struck Edge's raised hand with his own.

"We found the cock!" Triple H shouted again, and the others soon joined him, their incantation resumed.

"We found the cock!"

"Hoo-RAH!"

"Hey! Shawn!"

Shawn stopped, holding out an arm to indicate to halt the procession. They were standing by another hallway, and Shawn heard a familiar voice call his name. He looked around, and grinned when he saw who it was.

"RVD!" he called, waving to the other boy, who was making his way slowly down the hall. He looked like he was dragging something—something big—along. Another boy walked in this same peculiar manner beside him. Seven other boys and one girl followed them, five Shawn didn't recognize, Bobby Lashley, who appeared rather nervous, and Kurt Angle, who was carrying an armful of Red Bulls and drooling all over the cans.

"Hey guys!" RVD called, and Shawn and his eight companions waved back. Shawn immediately ran to them, followed closely by the others.

RVD grinned when they arrived, and stopped. He wiped his forehead, and dropped whatever he had been dragging. "Man. This is one heavy fish," he remarked, and Sabu nodded his agreement, releasing the unknown luggage with a soundless gasp.

Shawn regarded Sabu a moment, unsure who he was, then questioned, "Fish?" He walked around RVD, and gasped when he saw the limp form of Paul Heyman. "Whoa! It's _huge_!"

"What is it?" Triple H asked, making a face as he stepped up beside Shawn.

"It smells, whatever it is," Cena said, his nose wrinkling in distaste.

Edge took a step toward Heyman, faintly curious, but Randy snatched his shoulder. "Don't get to close, Edge," he warned, eyeing the limp form of Heyman mistrustfully. "It could be dangerous." Edge, slightly alarmed, retreated closer to Randy. Undertaker, appraising them out of the corner of his eye, moved closer, raising an arm to move the both back.

"It's a fishy," Bobby informed them, rather anxiously.

"_Big _fish," Tommy Dreamer added, and threw his arms out to emphasize his point, consequently smacking Matt Striker across the face. Striker grunted in pain and surprise and fell to the ground, holding his nose.

"Huge," Triple H agreed, slightly mystified.

"Bigger than your nose," Sandman remarked, took a swig of his Red Bull, and released a loud belch while Triple H glared at him, Cena snickering beside him.

"Pretty cool," Lita said, and then pointed to the Miz, who sat by Triple H and Cena, grinning. "But we got something cooler."

"What _is_ that?" Rob Van Dam questioned, his eyes slightly wide. Shawn grinned proudly.

"It's a cock!" he declared.

"A cock?" Tommy Dreamer echoed in disbelief, his eyes wide, regarding the Miz with fascination. "No way!"

"Awesome!" Matt Striker cried. He leapt upright at once, but CM Punk, who was just as amazed, swiped the hand with his plastic dagger to the side at the same time, and smacked Striker outside the head. Matt went down yet again.

"It's a big cock," Punk said, mystified.

"Huge!" Rob said excitedly. "I've never seen one so big!"

"Hoo-RAH!" Miz agreed, pumping a fist into the air.

"Big enough for Big Oily Guy, do you think?" Cena grinned, appraising Miz.

"Wotally!" Rey cried, throwing up one tiny fist. Rob nodded his assent.

"Who's this Big Oily Guy?" Kevin asked, dimly perplexed.

"A pansy, no doubt," Sandman said grimly, and crushed his empty can to his forehead.

"One lucky guy, that's for sure," Tommy Dreamer said wistfully, "to get such a big cock."

"When I grow up, I'm going to have a cock like that one," CM Punk declared, crossing his arms and lifting his chin proudly.

"Me, too," Shawn agreed.

"Me, too!" Cena and Triple H both announced simultaneously, and glared at each other.

"My cock will be bigger than yours!" Triple H asserted acidly, crossing his arms.

"You wish, moron," Cena retorted with an unaffected smirk.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Well I bet your cock will be smaller than an _ant!_"

"Well I bet _your _cock will be smaller than your _brain_!"

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah!"

"Well, well—" Triple H struggled a moment, hunting for something cutting to say. Failing to do so, he made up for the lack of a retort by sticking out his tongue and blowing Cena a nice raspberry. Cena was quick to return the gesture fiercely.

"Pansies," Sandman commented gruffly. "_Both_ your cocks will be smaller than your masked midget over there." He gestured toward Rey, and snatched another can from Kurt, who looked slightly crestfallen at the loss.

"Well, let's get the cock to Big Oily Guy," Randy said. He and 'Taker walked up to Miz, surmounting him upon their shoulders. "The big fish, too. Maybe when he's happy, he'll know how to make Mr. Fish happy, too!" He grinned at Edge, who grinned back, assuming his place beside him. Undertaker eyed them, but said nothing.

"Let's go!" Shawn said. Rob and Sabu lifted Paul Heyman's legs, and the group of five-year-olds set off once more.

…

Shane McMahon, following suit of Kane and the Miz, was attempting to solve a little bit of a problem. Just a small plight, really. Infinitesimal. Insignificant. Hardly worth mentioning. And utterly inescapable, as Shane O' Mac had recently discovered.

Shane's problem was not green fairies attempting to steal his rubber ducky, nor slimy, crawling worms seeking to shred his sanity. Instead, the younger McMahon's situation consisted of two female five-year-olds, by the name of Trish Stratus and Candice Michelle, who seemed to have completely fixated on him. They followed him around ceaselessly, no matter where he went, their cheeks red, their eyes sparkling. Both girls had tried to kiss him more than once, and they kept _hugging _him. _Hugging _him.

On top of all that, Maria seemed to have made it her sole mission in life to give Shane O' Mac a nice whack in any and all exposed body parts with her spoon.

For these reasons, Shane McMahon now hid beneath the announcer's table, desperate for a hiding place from the three girls who had been stalking him. He had endeavored to flee into the stands, even under the ring, but both times they had pursued undaunted. He had a throbbing bruise on his brow where he'd been smacked with a spoon, and a moist spot on his cheek Stratus had kissed him to show for it.

_SMACK! _

It seemed Maria's aspiration had been accomplished yet again.

Shane McMahon cried out, and tried to stand, forgetting the fact he was under a table. As a result, he slammed his head into the bottom—hard. Dazed, he scrambled out on his hands and knees, and looked around. Maria stood, smiling triumphantly, her spoon in hand. Trish Stratus was snapping something at her, appearing extremely angry.

"How _dare_ you do that to Mr. Shane?" she admonished indignantly. "You—"

Shane heard no more, because someone gave him a very loud and very _wet_ kiss on his cheek. He recoiled, wide-eyed and horrified. Candice stood there, her cheeks sanguine, giggling and regarding him with sparkling eyes.

Shane stood there for a moment, his head throbbing, holding his cheek, unable to believe this was happening to him. Then he released a loud, angry bellow, and whirled to face Coach, who was with Batista, Carlito, and JBL on the other side of the ring. "_Coach!" _

Coach flinched.

"Yes?" he asked feebly. Batista moved in front of JBL and Carlito, his eyes narrowed.

"We are going to find my father," Shane said hotly, and stomped away from Candice, Maria, and Stratus and past Coach, out of the arena. Coach winced a second time and followed. Batista, JBL, and Carlito exchanged glances, and pursued them.

…

Vince McMahon awakened with a start. He surveyed his surroundings, sure he would find himself surrounded by little five-year-old monsters with large, gleaming eyes. When he did not, he stood slowly, not convinced he was alone. He scanned the room carefully, cautiously, and his eyes settled on the desk. He approached it, certain they were under it, just waiting to jump out at him. He gradually leaned over it, and then abruptly looked under, only to find no one there.

He was alone.

Vince withdrew, straightening, and fell back into his chair with a sigh of relief. Finally. He was alone. Those little beasts were nowhere to be seen.

"Dad?"

Vince looked up. Shane McMahon, evidently enraged, Jonathan Coachman, looking timid and unsure, and Carlito, Batista, and JBL, stood in the doorway, the children peeking around Coach's legs at Vince. The older McMahon scowled at the sight of them, and regarded his son. "What?"

Shane walked into the room, followed closely by Coach and the kids. He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by a cheerful incantation that came from the hallway, moving closer.

"We found the cock!"

"Hoo-rah!"

"We found the cock!"

"Hoo-RAH!"

Vince, Coach, and Shane flinched in unison. Batista blinked. Carlito cocked his head to the side, and JBL rolled his eyes, muttering. The small face of five-year-old Shawn Michaels appeared in the doorway, and his eyes lit up when he saw Vince. "Big Oily Guy! You're alive! Are you happy?" He ran up to Vince, and stood before him, hands clasped behind his back, eyes huge and bright. Any other observer would have thought he looked adorable. Vince thought the child looked like a repulsive little monster, bent on shredding his sanity.

Speaking of repulsive miniature beasts intent on destroying Vince McMahon's precious sanity, Triple H and John Cena came in then, carrying another five-year-old above their heads, one which looked vaguely like the Miz. Coach and Shane both blinked, and Vince scowled. _Wonderful. _More _little brats. _

"He's alive!" Triple H cried excitedly, and clapped, almost causing Cena to drop Miz. "You're gonna be so happy with us!"

"He's gonna be happier with _me_," Cena said smugly.

"No, he's not!" Triple H retorted, making a face at Cena. "He's gonna be happier with _me._"

"Me, you idiot!" Cena snapped, his smirk quickly turning into a scowl.

"_I_ found the cock!" Triple H shot back, snatching Miz from Cena.

"No, you didn't!" Cena said angrily, retrieving Miz so fiercely he nearly threw the smaller boy over his shoulder.

"Yeah I did!" Triple H snatched the Miz's arm and pulled him away from Cena again, stepping back.

"No!" Cena advanced and pulled Miz from Triple H, glaring at the other boy with nothing less than antipathy.

"Yeah!"

"Nu-_uh_!"

"Huh-_uh_!"

"Hoo-rah?"

Vince, Coach, and Shane regarded the two boys bewilderedly, unsure what they were talking about. _Cock? _Coach thought. _What—?_

"Come on, guys!" Shawn called, ignoring his two dueling friends. Undertaker emerged, regarding Vince with conspicuously suppressed excitement, followed closely by Edge and Randy Orton, both with anticipation in their eyes. Rey Mysterio hobbled in after them, his immense optics alight. Lita was by his side, one hand on his shoulder. Kane walked in after them, startling Coach, and irritating the two McMahon's.

Surprising Coach and irritating Vince and Shane even further, three other five-year-olds, donning cardboard and tinfoil armor, toting with plastic swords, came in a moment later.. Coach was the first to recognize the one with shoulder-length black hair. "_CM Punk_?"

Punk regarded him, and smirked. "That's my name, Baldie, don't wear it out. You Big Oily Guy?"

Coach blinked. "Uh…"

"Nu-huh," Shawn said, and pointed to Vince. "_He's _Big Oily Guy." Vince's eye twitched.

CM Punk crossed his arms and scoffed. "_Him_? He doesn't look so great to me. Just another old, grey geezer. I thought he'd be more…hero-like. Like Superman. Not my _grandpa_." That time both of Vince's eyes twitched, along with the rest of his body. His fingers clenched and unclenched, and he glared venomously at Punk.

"Looks cool to me," Tommy Dreamer said. He leaned an elbow on Punk's shoulder, inadvertently causing his sword to protrude behind them.

"Yeah!" Matt Striker agreed, and attempted to step up behind them. His gaze was locked on Vince, and he did not see the blade pointing directly at him. He ended up walking straight into it, poking himself in the eye. He cried out and drew back, hand over his face.

Kevin Thorn, Ariel, and Sandman walked in then, followed by Kurt Angle, who was still carrying—and drooling all over—Sandman's Red Bulls, and Bobby Lashley, who looked very nervous but also excited.

"How many of you _are _there?" Shane questioned hotly, his fists shaking in rising ire.

"More than you can handle, pansy," Sandman recounted, grabbing another Red Bull from Kurt. He took a swig of it, and burped loudly and clearly as Shane glared at him.

Rob Van Dam and Sabu appeared in the doorway, beads of sweat lining on their foreheads. "Yo, guys, mind helping us get this thing through the door?" Rob called, and Sabu nodded vigorously.

"OK!" Randy and 'Taker both ran to them, and disappeared out the door. Rob and Sabu continued in, and now the McMahon's and Coach, beginning to be slightly bewildered, could see they were dragging something large. As Rob and Sabu commenced into the doorway, the McMahon's and their Executive Assistant now saw whatever they were pulling along had legs—human legs. Coach blinked. Vince scowled, thought there was bewilderment in his expression as well. Shane rubbed his eyes, as if he did not believe what he was seeing.

"_Heyman?_" Coach said in shock and confusion, when he saw the face of who the four five-year-olds dragged. "Paul _Heyman_?"

_The _Hell? Vince and Shane thought, blinking.

"Heyman?" Bobby said, looking from Coach to the limp form of Paul Heyman. "Is that the fishy's name?"

_Fishy? What the—?_ Coach, Vince, and Shane regarded the scene before them in utter unbelief, Shane rubbing his eyes again.

"Heyman?" Edge jumped a little, his eyes widening. He ran up to Heyman, and leaned over him, his hands going to his mouth. Suddenly, he burst into tears. Randy and Lita, alarmed, hurried to his side.

"What _now?" _Triple H questioned exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. Undertaker regarded Edge suspiciously, appraising the way Randy hugged him with narrowed eyes.

"The fishy…" Edge sobbed, clutching Randy and regarding Heyman with fearful eyes. "He's…he's…one of the evil fish from the bottom of the sea!" And he burst into fresh tears.

Triple H and Cena rolled their eyes, along with JBL. Shawn, Tommy Dreamer, Rob, Randy, and Carlito all gasped in unison. Kevin Thorn, Ariel, and Batista blinked, as did Lita, though she didn't look all too surprised. Undertaker looked mistrustfully at Edge, while CM Punk and Sandman regarded the sobbing boy with raised eyebrows. Sabu jumped back, looking startled and horrified.

"Evil fish from the bottom of the sea!" Rob cried. "Holy _cripes_, man!"

"_Cwipes!_" Rey echoed, and giggled. "Evwil fwish cwome fwom swea bwottwom."

"Cripes is right," Tommy Dreamer said, mystified. "No wonder it's psychotic."

"Psychotic? You mean, it's a _psycho_?" Randy cried, and clutched Edge's arm. "Oh, man! It can read minds!"

Edge nodded, the tears still streaming down his face. "It don't _eat _brains, like the chickens, but it _reads_ them. I-It's j-just as b-bad."

"Hey, it's OK," Lita soothed, putting her arms around Edge. "Maybe it's a _nice_ fish. Not like those chickens who stole Big Oily Guy's brain." Vince's eye twitched at this.

"Y-Yeah?" Edge wiped away the moisture on his cheeks, his sobs diminished to sniffles.

"Yeah!" Rob spoke up, inspired. "He's a good fish. He saved our friend Daivari before!"

"R-Really?" Edge regarded Heyman, and smiled. It was a smile which vaguely struck Coach even in his confounded state, sweet and bright and yet almost sad. "Maybe he is nice then!"

"Yeah!" Tommy Dreamer agreed. "And even if he isn't, we're here to take…him…_down._" He twirled once, brandishing his swords to emphasize his proclaimed skills. CM Punk nodded, and took position at his side, holding out his daggers.

"Yeah!" Matt Striker regained his feet with an energetic leap and imitated Dreamer, not seeing the other boy's sword, and consequently received yet another smack across the face.

"Not to mention me and 'Taker," Randy said. "We'd kick his—"

"_Randy_," Shawn interjected sternly, and Randy grinned sheepishly at him.

"OK!" Edge said, and he and Randy slapped high-fives. Edge turned to 'Taker, who regarded him with a look that was not quite friendly, but also struck his raised hand.

Triple H rolled his eyes. "Babies."

"Pansies." Sandman snatched a can from Kurt, downed half the liquid in one gulp, and released a loud, clear burp.

Cena turned to Vince, and shifted his gaze to the Miz, who sat grinning by Triple H. He looked at Vince again. "You don't look too happy, Big Oily Guy," he observed, and Vince twitched. "But it's OK!" His eyes lit up. "We've got something that'll make you really happy!"

"With me, more than him, anyway," Triple H added smugly, and Cena scowled at him.

"You'll be happy with all of us!" Shawn exclaimed. He grabbed the Miz, and offered him to Vince. The Chairman of the WWE twitched again. "Look! It's your lost cock! We found it!"

Coach flinched, Shane blinked, and Mr. McMahon gaze yet another twitch, this time twice. His fingers clenched into fists, shaking in barely contained rage.

"It's a very big cock," Randy said cheerfully as he, Edge, and Undertaker walked up to them. "Have you ever seen one so big?"

"As big as your lost one?" 'Taker questioned, regarding Vince with excitement and the slightest trace of apprehension.

"It better be," Kane muttered, his arms crossed. "I'm not looking for another one."

Shawn placed the Miz in Vince's lap, and Vince recoiled, pulling his hands away with a grimace of disgust. "Here you go! Aren't you so happy with us?" And he grinned at Vince, eyes sparkling.

"Hoo-RAH!" Miz shouted, right in Vince's face.

Vince scowled, grabbed Miz, and placed him back with Shawn. He stood, and began to pace the room, muttering incoherently under his breath. Coach winced, and Shane regarded his father with what was almost fear. Shawn and the others watched Vince in silent anticipation.

A moment later Vince halted, and turned to the children. "You know what?" he said hotly, hands clenched into fists, struggling not to sound angry. "I'm _so…happy_ with you…we're gonna go on a little field trip…to the playground."

Shane and Coach both jumped a little, startled. "Father—?" Shane questioned in unison with Coach, who spoke uncertainly: "Mr. McMahon—?"

For a moment, the children held no response. Then, beginning with Shawn and spreading to the others, a loud, excited cheer erupted in the room. Randy, 'Taker, and Edge all slapped high fives, as did Triple H, Cena, and Shawn. Rey, cheering, hobbled around the room, hugging everyone he came across.

Vince flinched, scowling. "Let's go," he muttered, and strode out the door, followed closely by his son. The twenty five-year-olds followed close behind, cheering. Coach, bewildered, pursued them, glancing once more at Paul Heyman before walking out.

…

"Johnny, I really think you should—"

"_Quiet_, Joey!"

"But, John, just _look_—"

"I said, shut up!"

"Johnny—"

"_Shut up!" _

"But, Johnny—"

"_Will you just be quiet!_"

"Man, just _look_—"

"_Shut_ _up!_"

"Johnny—"

_CRASH. _

"—never mind." Joey Mercury rolled his eyes, peering down at the untidy heap of broken table, from which protruded Johnny Nitro's twitching arm. Nitro had been standing on the less than sturdy piece of furniture only a moment before, attempting to give the Hardy brothers, who watched on the other side of the room with Eric Bischoff and Michael Cole, a speech. Most likely, this was intended as a misguided attempt to impress Melina, who stood nearby, one eyebrow raised. The table had inevitably collapsed under his weight.

Johnny Nitro sat up, pushing the splintered wood off himself, his face twisted in pain, one hand on his back. "Why didn't you _tell _me it was about to fall!" he snapped at Mercury.

"I _tried_ to, man, but you never listen," Joey said, and glanced up at Melina. "Trying to impress _her_." Melina rolled her eyes, her arms crossed.

"FallfallfallBOOM!" Jeff Hardy, who was jumping up and down beside his brother, cried excitedly. He slammed himself down in imitation, consequently banging his head on the floor—hard. He lay there, motionless. Bischoff blinked down at him, and Matt rolled his eyes to the ceiling, looking exasperated and bored.

Suddenly, making them all jump (besides Matt, who only raised an eyebrow, not looking like he really cared, and Jeff, who only lay there), a loud, gleeful cry came from the other side of the door. It was thrown open, revealing another five-year-old girl, leaping up and down excitedly, wearing the exact same clothes as Melina, as well as possessing the same dark red hair.

Melina gasped, shocked. Mercury blinked, as did a nonplussed Eric Bischoff. Matt Hardy's eyebrow went higher, and Johnny Nitro emerged from underneath the broken table, his mouth falling open when he saw the girl.

She bounded up to Melina, and grinned at her. She only stood there, making slight bouncing movements though her feet never left the ground.

"Melina has a twin?" Bischoff questioned, bewildered.

"That's not Melina's twin!" Johnny Nitro cried, sounding offended.

"That's Mickie James," Joey Mercury said, blinking.

"_You!_" Melina snarled, looking both surprised and infuriated. "What are you doing in my _clothes_?"

"_You!_" Mickie James echoed, imitating Melina's snarl. "What are you doing in my _clothes_?"

Melina scowled. "Don't copy me!"

Mickie James likewise scowled. "Don't copy me!" She giggled.

"Oh great," Matt Hardy mumbled sarcastically. "Two Melina's. Just what this world needs."

Meanwhile, Jeff Hardy abruptly snapped to his feet. One could almost discern the hearts in his eyes as he regarded Mickie James, bouncing up and down, a large grin spreading across his face. Matt Hardy glanced at his brother, saw the look in his wide, exulted eyes, and rolled his own to the ceiling. _Oh great. _

Jeff bounded over to Melina and Mickie, waving vigorously at that latter girl. Mickie giggled and waved back. Jeff flushed with delight, his jumps becoming even more enthusiastic, if that was possible.

"C'mon," Matt muttered to Michael Cole, not wanting to see what would transpire between his brother and Mickie. He proceeded to drag the other boy out of the room, Cole motioning to Eric Bischoff to follow. Bewildered, the former GM of Raw complied. Joey Mercury grabbed an irate Johnny Nitro's arm, who in turn grabbed an even _more _irate Melina, and the two boys led her away in pursuit of Bischoff, Hardy, and Cole. Mickie James soon followed, but before she walked out the door—or more accurately, _bounced _out the door—she turned and blew Jeff a kiss.

Jeff Hardy was stricken by the imaginary kiss as though by a bat. He teetered a moment, his face sanguine, and then collapsed. He proceeded to do a series of involuntary backward summersaults, rolling back into a chair, which then teetered much as he had, and fell back, crashing into the cupboards behind it. The cupboards flew open, spitting out a pair of large bags. The bags landed on the chair with a soft _thump_, rolled along it, then flew over it and came to rest on Jeff Hardy's head. There they burst, burying the small boy in their white, powdery contents.

Jeff sat up abruptly, curious. He dipped his finger in the pallid powder, and put it in his mouth. He then began to jump up and down in delight, as he realized what it was.

_Sugar._

**Uh-oh…Jeff found sugar. **_**Lot's **_**of it. Bad for Bischoff (especially Bischoff) and our five-year-old friends…good for us. ;) **

**Poor Paul Heyman, left there all alone. But who cares—they're all going to the playground! Can I get a **_**hoo-RAH! **_

**LOL. Anyway, hope to see your reviews! **


	12. Playground

**OK, not a super-quick update, but faster than the last one! I hope you like it; I'm not sure about this one…**

**Plenty of McMahon torture again in this one…with all that's been happening with everyone's favorite Chairman I just have to torture him double-time. ;) Anyway, no Jeff in this one, but Jeff in the next one, and a little more of little Rey-Rey! **

**Enjoy. :D**

"Going to the playground!"

"Pwaygwound!"

"Hoo-rah!"

"Going to the playground!"

"Pwaygwound!"

"Hoo-rah!"

"Going to the playground!"

"Pway_gwound_!"

"Hoo-RAH!"

Vince McMahon twitched repeatedly as the cheerful chanting echoed through the bus, seeming very loud and obnoxious to the Chairman of the WWE. Shawn Michaels and Randy Orton led the chant, pumping their fists into the air each time they sang. Edge, Undertaker, Triple H, John Cena, Tommy Dreamer, CM Punk, Matt Striker, Rob Van Dam, and Sabu all swayed in their seats, their hands in the air, like fans at a concert, singing. Dreamer and CM Punk both ended up slapping Matt Striker in the head each time they swayed in their direction. Each time they did, he grunted in pain, and the continued singing cheerfully.

Little Rey Mysterio swayed side to side in his seat, singing loudly, his huge eyes alight. Batista sat beside him, singing but not swaying, and JBL was at his side, singing loudly and crudely. Kane, Sandman, and Kurt Angle were the only ones not singing—Kane sat alone behind 'Taker, his arms crossed, silent. Sandman sat muttering "Pussies," and drinking his Red Bull, belching each time Miz, who sat between Cena and The Game, shouted "Hoo-RAH!", Kurt Angle by his side, drooling.

Jonathan Coachman, Shane McMahon, and Vince McMahon sat at the front of the bus, Vince twitching, Shane sitting leaning on the seat in front of him, his head in his arms, Coach sitting beside him, watching the kids with a small smile on his face.

Coach and Shane were not sure why Vince had chosen to take them on a bus ride this time—or more importantly, why he had chosen to ride with them. Nor did they even begin to comprehend why the Chairman had chosen to bring them on this trip to the playground in the first place, though Coach had his suspicions.

The bus driver was a pleasant-faced, short, plump man who was singing right along with the five-year-olds, singing at the top of his voice, "Going to the playground!" and periodically pumping his fist into the air along with Randy and Shawn. More than once this almost caused them to skid right off the road.

Shannon Moore, who had run in when they had been boarding the bus, was sitting beside Vince at the front of the bus. "Hey!" He shouted now, excitedly, "Can I sing too?"

Cena, H, Edge, and CM Punk all made faces at him, and they all shouted in unison, "No!"

Shannon slumped in his seat, hanging his head. "Rejected…"

Meanwhile, little Rey Mysterio was considering his surroundings with huge, sparkling eyes, singing, "Pwaygwound!" almost impulsively each time they sang. His eyes shifted to the window, and he leaned over, pressing his face to the glass. He watched with excited fascination as the cars, trees, and buildings flashed by in fantastic blurs, and best of all, the people wandering on the sidewalks on the side of the road, flashing by one by one. Watching them, Rey decided he wanted to go out there and give some of those people a hug.

He looked up, and saw the bus window was slightly open. He jumped onto the top of the seat, and reached to the window, and pushed the window down as far as he could. Satisfied he could open it no more, he lifted himself to the window and leaned out. He got his head entirely out the window before Batista spotted him.

"_Rey_!" Batista shouted, alarmed, loud enough to startle the other children on the bus, including the McMahon's, Coach, and the driver. Batista jumped up, and snatched Rey's legs, pulling him back into the bus. The driver looked back, taking his eyes off the road and his hands off the wheel, consequently causing the bus to veer to the right, almost sending them flying right off the road.

Just as Batista and Rey fell back in the seat, knocking JBL to the floor, the bus driver grabbed the steering wheel and turned the bus back onto the road, slamming on the brakes at the same time. They halted briefly, and then continued smoothly. The bus driver breathed a loud sigh of relief. "Whoa, man, that was _close_, eh?" He said pleasantly to Vince, and grinned. Vince, who, along with Shane, had been slammed head-first into the window, twitched, as did his son. Coach, meanwhile, smiled shakily back.

"You guys OK?" Shawn questioned concernedly, leaning out of his seat, his eyes wide.

Batista sat up, and nodded. "Yeah…" He looked sternly at Rey. "Rey, what did I tell you about doing that?"

"Siwy." Rey said, and giggled, hugging Batista. "Siwy, siwy, _siwy_…"

"Stupid little midget." Vince muttered, rubbing his aching head.

Rey's eyes flashed suddenly. He glared with surprising venom at Vince over the seat, his eyes narrowing. Vince was sitting only two seats ahead of Rey, Batista, and JBL—Rey now leapt onto the back of the seat, and jumped forward, shouting in a voice that was surprisingly deep and vehement, "WHO YOU CALLING SHORTER THAN A MIDGET LEPRECHAUN?" He snatched the top of the back of the seat behind Vince, and swung his legs over, striking Vince right across the face. Vince grunted in pain and surprise and fell back in his seat, holding his nose. Coach and Shane both blinked, startled.

"Six…one…_nine_!" Cena called excitedly, pumping his fist into the air, and he and Shawn slapped high-fives. Shawn and Triple H also slapped their hands together.

Meanwhile, Rey Mysterio sat on the back of the seat, his eyes glittering, and giggled. "_Siwy_." He said, giggling, and then jumped into the aisle, and hobbled back to his seat, giggling all the way. All eyes watched him, everyone startled and bewildered.

Then suddenly, Edge began to cheer. Randy soon followed suit, and Undertaker immediately started to cheer as well. Shawn, Cena, and Triple H also began to cheer, and the remainder of the five-year-olds began to cheer as well. Soon they were all cheering and clapping, Rey continuing the giggle.

Vince twitched. His fingers tightened over the edge of the seat. Not even fifteen minutes, and already he was beginning to regret this decision.

…

The playground, as Shawn Michaels, John Cena, and Triple H would later tell Matt and Jeff Hardy and Michael Cole, was just as cool as Toys-R-Us, if not cooler. When they arrived, Shawn, Cena, H, Undertaker, Randy Orton, Edge, Lita, Matt Striker, and Tommy Dreamer headed for the middle of the playground, where the slide and the castle-like structure it was connected to was situated. Leading to this castle there were four poles, to which was attached four small circular platforms, each platform situated higher than the one before, creating something like stepping stones leading to inside the castle-slide.

Shawn, Randy, Edge, and Undertaker sat on these platforms, holding the poles to keep themselves up. Randy Orton sat between Edge and Undertaker, leaning on Undertaker's shoulder, his feet resting on Edge's leg. Undertaker had flashed Edge a triumphant look when Randy had leaned on him, and Edge was now the way the two were seated with apparent jealousy.

Triple H and Cena were seated by Shawn, Matt Striker and Tommy Dreamer sitting by them. Lita seated at Edge's feet. H and Cena had been fighting a moment ago over who got to lean on Shawn's legs—Triple H did so first, and then Cena pushed him off, resting his own head against Shawn's legs. Triple H soon fought back, pushing Cena back into the wood chips which littered the ground, resuming his former position. On the battle raged for five minutes, before Shawn, frustrated and annoyed, kicked them both, causing their fighting to cease, though they both continued to glare at each other.

The eight five-year-olds watched as Vince McMahon, Chairman of the WWE, chased a laughing CM Punk around the playground, looking very much like an angry bull, his face a deep, ugly red. CM Punk dove through the swings, almost knocking Ariel and Kevin off of them, zigzagged through the teeter-totters (almost causing Vince to trip over one of them) and around the merry-go-round, moving just fast enough to be beyond the enraged Chairman's reach, waving his plastic sword and laughing.

Rob Van Dam and Sabu soon joined them, both watching Vince with raised eyebrows. "Man, he looks _nuts_, doesn't he?" Rob said, slightly mystified, and Sabu nodded, pointing at Vince and solemnly twirling his finger around his ear to show Vince was crazy.

"Yeah, dude…what's up with that guy?" Dreamer questioned distastefully, one eyebrow raised, watching Vince.

"He's unsanitary." Shawn recounted solemnly.

Dreamer turned to him, inquiring. "Huh?"

"Unsanitary. He lost his sanitary." Triple H said, and when Dreamer still looked puzzled, he amended, "He lost his _brain_." He tapped his brow soberly.

"Oh." Dreamer's expression turned solemn, and he sat back.

"When did he lose it?" Matt Striker questioned quietly, regarding Vince with slightly widened eyes, looking a trifle frightened.

"Long, long ago." Shawn said knowingly.

"I was born long, long ago…" Undertaker said reminiscently, wrapping an arm around Randy Orton.

"Whoa…really?" Matt Striker looked completely engrossed.

"Yeah. _Long_ time ago." Randy confirmed, nodding.

"You're a senile citizen!" Striker said excitedly.

"I'm a _what_?" Undertaker questioned, blinking at him, his eyes narrowed slightly.

"A really old person." Tommy recounted, and Undertaker nodded, his face clearing.

"I lost my sanitary once." Rob recounted soberly, his eyes cast downward.

The others looked at him, their eyes wide, all looking fascinated. "You _did_?" Shawn gasped, his hands over his mouth, looking at him in disbelief.

"Yep." Rob nodded, looking at the ground.

"Did the evil chickens take it?" Edge questioned, his eyes wide and horrified.

Rob looked confused for a moment, and then shrugged. "I guess. I don't really know…"

Edge gasped, and pulled up his knees, burying his face in them, shaking. Afraid he was going to cry again, Lita and Randy both patted his back soothingly. Undertaker watched this with narrowed eyes.

"What was it _like_, man?" Dreamer asked, fascinated, and they all leaned closer to hear.

"It was like…like…I don't really know what it was like…it was like I couldn't _think_, man…because I didn't have a _brain_…" He regarded his friends with wide eyes, raising his hands to his head. The others gasped.

"How'd you get it _back_?" Striker asked, and they all leaned even closer to hear better.

"Sabu got it back for me." Rob said, and beamed appreciatively at Sabu.

Sabu drew himself up proudly, and stood. He held his hands to the side, as though he were gripping something like a bat, preparing for the pitch, and swung, like a batter swinging at a ball, and then began to run around, flapping his arms frantically, and then fell to the ground, twitched one, twice, and the lay still. A moment later he jumped back to his feet, pumping his fist into the air triumphantly.

Rob nodded grinning. "Yeah, yeah! He chopped the head off the evil chicken and got back my brain!"

Edge regarded Sabu with wide eyes. "You're a hero, man!"

Sabu nodded, his chin held proudly up.

"Yeah!" Shawn cried, pumping his fist into the air, and the others did the same, and they all slapped numerous high-fives.

In the midst of all these high-fives, Edge heard a dread sound ascend from somewhere behind him. His smile faded, and he turned, and his eyes widened abruptly when he saw the source of the noise. "Ch-Chickens!" He shouted, horrified, and leapt off the platform he had been sitting on, retreating behind Randy, shaking, his eyes wide.

The others looked around, Sabu immediately preparing to save the day (and their sanitary), and Triple H rolled his eyes when he saw what Edge was talking about. "Dude, those ain't _chickens_! They're _ducks!_"

"D-Ducks?" Edge echoed uncertainly, and Randy laughed, patting his back.

"Yeah, ducks, man, not chickens!"

They were indeed ducks. A brown duck hobbled its way across the park, followed by a group of smaller, grey ducks—babies. The mother duck quacked, and her children—seven, it seemed—imitated her cry. They seemed to be heading for the pond in the center of the park.

"Duckies!" Cena cried excitedly, his eyes shining. "Lot's a duckies!" He immediately ran to the ducks, arms outstretched. The mother duck quacked loudly in alarm, and hurried away, her children, imitating her cries of fear, rushing alongside her. Cena chased them, giggling, crying, "Duckies!" They soon outran him, however, and escaped into their pond. Cena attempted to pursue them, only to trip in the mud and fall face-first into the water.

Shawn gasped, and the nine immediately ran to him, Shawn helping him up, while Triple H snickered. When Shawn got Cena to his feet, the other boy was near tears. "Duckies!" He cried dismally, reaching for the ducks. One of the babies quacked once, as if in triumph. Cena hung his head.

"Idiot." Triple H snickered, and Shawn slapped him outside the head, causing his sniggering to cease abruptly.

"I can't get the duckies." Cena said sadly, and sniffed.

Shawn patted his back. "That's OK, buddy, look!" Cena regarded him, and he grinned, holding up both his fists, as though to punch Cena. Instead of striking the other boy, however, Shawn lifted his thumbs and pinkies, bending his pinkies to the side, and exclaimed, "See! I can make duckies!"

Cena's face lit up. "Cool!" He lifted his own hands, clenched them into fists, and attempted to do the same as Michaels…but he only ended up raising his thumbs and pinkies, finding himself unable to bend his pinkie the way Shawn had. His smile faltered, and he tried again, only to get the same result. Again. The result was the same. Once more. Same.

Cena looked dismally at his fists, and hung his head again. "I can't do it!" Triple H began to snicker again.

Shawn patted his back again. "It's OK, man. It's OK…"

"I wish I had a duck." Randy said wistfully, looking longingly at the ducks across the pond. It was then, that Undertaker and Edge simultaneously got an idea.

Undertaker and Edge both looked around hastily while Randy regarded the ducks in the pond, and both in unison noticed a group of ducks hobbling along by the pond. Together, they both muttered "There!" and ran to the ducks, grabbing two of them before they could get away. 'Taker and Edge then took the loudly protesting ducks back to Randy, both grinning.

"Look, Randy!" They both cried in unison, "I got a duck for ya!" Noticing the other, they both turned to glare at each other.

Randy looked at them, and gasped delightedly. "Ducks!" He grinned at them both. "You two got me ducks?"

Edge turned away from Undertaker, and grinned at Randy, stepping forward. "Take my duck, Randy! Mine is much cooler than _his_." He made a face briefly at 'Taker, and grinned at Randy again.

"Nuh-_uh_!" Undertaker retorted vehemently, and held his own duck to Randy. "My duck is the cooler duck! Look at his green head!" Indeed, Undertaker's duck possessed a green-colored head, while Edge's duck, being female, did not.

"My duck's bigger!" Edge proclaimed, holding his own duck to Randy.

"No it isn't!"

"Yes, it is!"

"No, it isn't!"

"Uh-huh!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Huh-uh!"

"Nuh-uh!"

"Huh-_uh_!"

"Nuh-_uh_!"

"Guys—" Randy began, frowning now, but Undertaker turned to him, looking angry, and pointed irately at Edge.

"Don't listen to him, Randy, he's a liar!" He cried, and glared at Edge with burning hatred.

"I'm not a liar!" Edge retorted, "_You_ are!"

"You!"

"You!"

"You are!"

"_You _are!"

Undertaker put his duck down, glaring at Edge. "Yeah, well, you suck!" He snapped, and suddenly leapt on Edge, tackling him to the ground, and began pounding him relentlessly, shouting insults while Edge also shouted insults, though his were rather pathetic.

"Dude…" Rob Van Dam remarked, walking up to them with Sabu. Sabu crossed his arms and shook his head.

Shawn patted Randy's back. "I know how you feel, man." He said solemnly, and jerked his thumb back towards Triple H and Cena, who were currently in the midst of a fight over if Cena would ever be able to make duckies or not.

Shawn and Randy sighed and unison, and plopped down to a sitting position, back to back, watching their respective pair of dueling friends.

Meanwhile, Vince McMahon was in a fight of his own. His fight, however, was against three five-year-olds in cardboard and tinfoil armor, one of which was taunting him now, another of which was giggling, while the last of which only stood by the taunting one, rolling his eyes at every insult his companion threw out.

CM Punk, the taunting one, Matt Striker, the giggling one, and Tommy Dreamer, the one rolling his eyes repeatedly.

"What now old geezer, huh?" CM Punk taunted, pointing his plastic dagger at Vince and laughing deridingly. "Wha'cha gonna do now, huh?"

Vince, red faced and panting, lunged for the boy, but Punk and his two companions leapt back, just out of reach of the exhausted chairman. Vince growled, but he was unable to move anymore. Punk had worn him out minutes ago by making him chase the armored child around the playground repeatedly.

Coach laid a hand on Vince's shoulder, looking concerned, perhaps for the safety of the children. "Mr. McMahon, sir—"

"Why you little pieces of _trash_—" The irate chairman breathed.

"You're the piece of trash, you trashy senile old geezer." Punk shot back, smirking. "Oh!"

"You got _served_!" Striker exclaimed, giggling.

"Oh!" Punk said again, smirking still. "That's what you get from the _N_…" He leapt forward, landing in a crouch, holding his daggers up so they formed an x before his body.

"_G…_" Tommy Dreamer continued, rolling his eyes but humoring his friend, twirling once, stopping beside Punk, swiping his sword to the side above Punks head.

"_A_!" Striker finished loudly, and jumped forward, not seeing Dreamer's sword traveling in his direction, consequently getting smacked outside the head. He fell to the ground with a grunt of pain and surprise.

"No Girls Allowed, baby." Punk said, his smirk widening.

Shannon Moore watched them, his eyes wide and shining. "Can I join you guys?" He questioned excitedly.

"No!" Punk, Dreamer, and Striker (still on the ground) shouted together.

Shannon looked down, his shoulder's slumping. "Rejected…"

Vince scowled, his fists shaking in anger, barely hearing his son and Executive Assistant, who were now both trying to calm him down.

All feel silent, however, when another five-year-old suddenly walked into the playground, a bald boy holding two milk cartons, with a rather mean expression on his face. Vince scowled, Coach groaned, and Shane fought the sudden urge to slam his face repeatedly into the swing set post. Even 'Taker, Edge, Cena, and H all stopped fighting to turn to regard this new boy.

"Steve!" Shawn cried excitedly to the boy, his eyes alight.

"Fwend Stweve Awstin!" Rey cried, and ran to the boy, wrapping his arms around his midsection. "Helwo Fwend Awstin!"

"Oh my God…" Coach groaned, "Steve Austin…"

"That's Stone Cold to you, Baldie." Austin said, glaring at Coach. He pushed Rey off, and walked up to Vince, regarding him. "What's with the old geezer? Like to beat up kids, do ya, senile old oily guy?"

"_What _did you just call me?" Vince breathed, almost at his breaking point, wanting nothing more than to strangle this little beast.

Stone Cold Steve Austin lifted his milk cartons, stepping so close to Vince they were almost touching, and suddenly slammed the cartons together, spraying milk everywhere, all over himself and Vince. He lifted the cartons over his head, and opened his mouth, pouring the milk into his mouth. Then he threw them down, and pointed at Vince. "Time for me to open up a can of whoop-ass all over your ass you mother-focking old, grey, oily _geezer_." He said, and promptly kicked Vince once in the shin. Vince released a cry of pain and fell to his knees. Steve stood triumphantly, his arms crossed.

"Oh!" Rob Van Dam cried, "What _dat_? What _dat_?" Everyone regarded him with raised eyebrows, and he shrugged sheepishly, embarrassed.

Then, starting with 'Taker, ending with Cena, they all began to cheer. Shawn only stood there, his arms crossed, offended by Steve's vulgarity.

Vince remained there a moment, kneeling, soaked in milk, shaking in anger, clutching his aching shin, and the suddenly he bellowed, and scrambled to his feet, grabbing Shane and Coach, and proceeded to drag the two bewildered men to the bus which was waiting for them by the sidewalk. He dragged them on, and threw them into the seats.

"I'll pay you what ever you want to leave before they get on." Vince said desperately to the driver, who then raised an eyebrow and pointed to the door. Vince looked, and groaned when he saw Steve Austin standing there, regarding him mistrustfully.

Vince slumped in his seat as they all began to board, still cheering.

This was turning out to be the worst day of Vincent Kennedy McMahon's entire life…

**Yeah, well, just wait 'till you get your head shaved at Wrestlemania. If you do, anyway. I don't think you will. But you may…;)**

**Do _you _think he will? I'm cheering for Vince all the way, what about you? Anyway, what do you think of this chapter? It was good, I hope. And Stone Cold Steve Austin is in this now! I just had to add him. ;) He's gonna be opening cans of whoop ass all over this story. And that's the bottom line, because _Stone Cold said so!_ **

**;) And at least we know why Cena always does that fist-thumb-pinkie thing…he's trying to make duckies. But he just _can't do it! _T.T**

**LOL. Anyway, please review and tell me what you think!**


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